


Chan eil fios agad dè a chanas tu ri seo

by AussieGailophile



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death In Dream, Clan gathering, F/M, Fluff, Jamie through the stones, Lallybroch, NSFW Chapter 25 onwards, Past Life Regression, Shinty, Smuggling, Society for Creative Anachronism, Witch Trials, sex scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-07-11 10:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 97,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AussieGailophile/pseuds/AussieGailophile
Summary: He was dying and for all my medical training there was absolutely nothing I could do to save him. He was the one constant in my life. The one person who knew me inside and out. He was my sun and everything in my life revolved around him. He had kept me safe when I had no one else . He was my knight in shining armour. He was my protector. He was my rock and my fortress and without him I would be truly alone. He was all that was good in my life. He was my heart.





	1. An unwelcome diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fanfic and I’d REALLY like to know what you think. Please leave me some creative criticism in the comments. Thanks

 

 

He was dying and for all my medical training there was absolutely nothing I could do to save him. He was the one constant in my life. The one person who knew me inside and out. He was my sun and everything in my life revolved around him. He had kept me safe when I had no one else . He was my knight in shining armour. He was my protector. He was my rock and my fortress and without him I would be truly alone. He was all that was good in my life. He was my heart.

My heart ached. Could I survive this loss after all that we had shared and all we had gone through together?

I was exhausted.My body felt like a rag doll. Would I have the strength to endure? I sat in my seat, the world rushing by the window as the train crept closer and closer to my destination. Inverness. For three days I hadn’t slept, firstly due to night shifts at the hospital and then traveling after receiving the phone call summoning me urgently to Scotland.

“He needs Ye” she’d said.

“We are now arriving at Inverness. Thank you for traveling with Caledonian Railways.“ came the crackled voice over the loud speakers.

I jumped at the interruption to my thoughts and grabbed my bags. Outside the window stood a familiar smiling face. Mrs Graham, enveloped me in a warm hug as soon as my feet hit the platform. Mrs Graham was the only motherly figure in my life after my own mother and father died in a car accident when I was 5 years old. I clung to her for any ounce of comfort she could give me.

“Och, my dear Claire, it’s sae gud to see Ye lass. Give me your bag. Let’s get Ye home. Ye look all done in. Ye need a nice warm bath and feeding up. You’re sae thin.”

“Thank you, Mrs Graham. It’s been a long trip.”

As she lead me to the waiting car, the question I needed to ask stuck in my throat for fear of the inevitable answer.

As she bundled me in, the expression of anxiety was plain on my face. She placed a reassuring hand on my arm.

We sat in silence as she pulled out into the traffic.

“How long?” I asked her as we drove along the familiar streets of the city, getting ever closer to the manse.

She looked at me with a look I knew well, as it was one that my colleagues and I donned all too often. 

“Three to six months, the doctors say. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, dearie.”

My heart sank. The glimmer of hope I had nurtured dissolved as I faced the reality of the situation.

“Why didn’t you let me know sooner?” I asked in dismay.

“I’m sorry, lass. You know how he is. He didna want to worry ye with you being so busy with your studies. He made me vow not to say a word until he had tried everything.”

My doctor’s brain went into overdrive.

“What treatment has he had?”

“Three rounds of chemotherapy and five months of radiotherapy.” she replied.

She turned into the driveway of the old manse.

“He needs you to be strong for him , ye ken. Ye’ve always been his darling and he willna want to see you so sad. You ken that your lovely smile will make him feel a mite better.” She said as she parked the car.

I took a deep breath, gathered myself and my things and followed Mrs Graham down the path.

Walking through the front door into the hallway gave me the feeling of being embraced by two strong arms. The manse had been a sanctuary to us after having lead the life of gypsies, constantly moving from place to place. Here there was always a warm welcome, a fire in the hearth and a sense of belonging.

Placing my bags at the bottom of the stairs I paused, wondering where I’d find him. Mrs Graham bustled me up the stairs to the guest room.

“He’s asleep” she said reading my thoughts “and sorely needed. He’s nae slept very much because of the treatment, ye ken. Best not to disturb him until he wakes.”

I nodded knowing full well what the treatments he endured had done to his already disease ravaged body.

“The reverend  is just with someone in his study. He willna be long. Best ye get freshened up after yer long journey, lass. Ye remember where the bathroom is? I’ll go get some supper ready. Come on duin when yer done and I’ll have a nice cup of tea made.”

Grabbing fresh clothes, I headed to the bathroom. Now that I was alone I could succumb to the tears that had threatened to overflow. The hot water from the shower washed away the tears along with some of my tiredness. I got dressed and made my way downstairs.

The door to the study opened and I again found myself wrapped in the welcoming arms of Reverend Wakefield, a long standing friend of my uncles. They had been class mates at Oxford, one studying history and the other archeology. Their friendship had stood the test of time.

“Claire! I’m so glad you’ve come. How was your trip? You look like you need to put your feet up. Come in, come in and sit in here with me and we can talk. Oh Claire it’s so good that you’re here.”

The smell of pipe tobacco, wood smoke and old books as I walked into the reverend’s study, brought back many memories. Cold winters nights curled up on the sofa with a book and a cup of Mrs Graham’s cocoa with whipped cream and grated chocolate on top that she would make especially for me. Listening in on conversations about the latest discoveries in history and archeology. Carefully handling the ancient artifacts lately unearthed and added to the vast collection maintained by the reverend, many of which I could still see dotted around the room.

Once seated in my favourite chair by the fire, the reverend went to the small Jacobean table which held a cut crystal decanter and a set of matching glasses. He removed the stopper and poured the amber liquid into two glasses, and handed one to me.

“A medicinal drop, lass?”

“Thank you” I replied with a watery smile at his attempt at a joke. The fiery liquid was welcome.

I could hear Mrs Graham in the kitchen humming to herself and the tinkle of china as she prepared the tea. She carried in the tea tray along with her famous shortbread.

“Will you pour the tea yerself Claire when yer ready?” seeing us with our whiskey glasses. “I’ll just get on with supper.”

I turned to Reverend Wakefield.

“So what have the doctors said? Is there any more they can do?”

The reverend shook his head sadly.

“As far as modern medicine is concerned they have done all they can. I’m not sure how much you know about traditional medicine but there is a new wellness centre that has been built at Broch Morda that offer alternative and herbal treatments. It may be clutching at straws but if there’s a chance he wants to try.”

“Do you think he could take it? I don’t want him to have his hopes dashed. My friend Joe Abernathy is an oncologist. If you’ll excuse me I’ll call him and see what he thinks.”

“Go ahead, lass. I don’t think he will wake soon. Maybe you can have some good news for him when he does.”

                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Joe? It’s Claire.”

“LJ? Are you ok? What’s the verdict?”

“They say three to six months.”

“Lady Jane, I’m so sorry. What treatment has he had?”

I explained everything that I’d gleaned from Mrs Graham and the reverend.

“Joe, there is a wellness centre at Broch Morda that offer alternate treatments.”

“You’d be talking about Blue Light”

“Blue Light? You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s run by a Frenchman. Goes by Master Raymond. I met him at the Glasgow conference. Seems to be getting good results using alternative methods like herbs and meditation. Meant to check it out myself, just haven’t had an opportunity.”

“So you think there’s a chance?”

“What have you got to lose? I’ll contact Raymond myself and talk through his case. Get back to you ASAP.”

“Joe, thank you. Truly.”

“Anything for you, Lady Jane.”

I stood leaning back on the newel post when Mrs Graham called me from upstairs.

“Claire, dearie? He’s awake.”

I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs would take me.

“Uncle Lamb?”


	2. Into the Blue Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he struggled into wakefulness I couldn’t but be shocked at the gaunt face and emaciated body of my erstwhile strong and virile Uncle. My exhausting schedule finishing my surgical residency at the Royal Free Hospital in London had kept me from seeing him for the last six months and I couldn’t believe how much the cancer had devoured him. He was only 54, my father’s baby brother who had had me foisted upon him when my parents died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of my first fanfic. Please leave constructive feedback in the comments. A shorter chapter this time. So hard to figure out where to start and stop each chapter but I reckon I’ll get the hang of it.

“Uncle Lamb? It’s me, Claire.”

As he struggled into wakefulness I couldn’t but be shocked at the gaunt face and emaciated body of my erstwhile strong and virile Uncle. My exhausting schedule finishing my surgical residency at the Royal Free Hospital in London had kept me from seeing him for the last six months and I couldn’t believe how much the cancer had devoured him. He was only 54, my father’s baby brother who had had me foisted upon him when my parents died. 

“My sweet girl,” he murmured “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this.”

His deep amber eyes, filled with love, met mine. The tears welled up in my eyes as the thin hand covered my own. I should have been comforting him but it was him that was comforting me.

“It’s ok sweetheart. Truly it is.”

“No it’s not ok, nothing about this is ok. Why did you keep this from me? I could have helped. I should have been there through the treatment. But you didn’t give me a chance to. You’ve always been there for me and now you’ve taken away the one chance for me to be there for you.”

“Honey, you needed to finish your residency. That was much more important. You’ve worked so hard. I couldn’t take you away from that.”

“More important? Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important than you. Without you I have nothing or no one.”

Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, M.S., Ph.D, F.R.A.S.. Eminent archeologist and historian had raced back to Oxford from excavating the temple of Al Khazneh at Petra, to assume guardianship of his 5 year old orphaned niece when a car accident killed Henry and Julia. Claire remarkably survived with just minor cuts and bruises. At only 30 and single, he didn’t know the first thing about how to look after a 5 year old so thought the best thing would be to send his niece to boarding school before heading back to the Middle East. Claire flatly refused to go, kicking and screaming so instead he took her along and she grew up on archeological digs from South America to the Middle East. 

A strong relationship was forged between the two and Claire became very self reliant, learning all kinds of skills that most young ladies would have no idea about.

Uncle Lamb took my hand in both of his and sighed.

“So what now, Chickadee?”

“The Reverend told me about the centre at Broch Morda. I’ve spoken to my friend Joe Abernathy. You remember him? Well Joe has met Master Raymond as is looking into it for us. He’s going to call me back as soon as he can.”

“Then maybe there’s hope, Chick”

“Just maybe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joe called me back the following day. He’d spoken to a colleague and was very excited. 

“If all they say about this place is true, Lady Jane,I may be out of a job. I don’t want to get your hopes up too high but it’s definitely worth giving it a try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~  
“It’s not far now,” said the Reverend “only a few more miles.”  
Uncle Lamb breathed a happy sigh from the back seat. He had real hope that a stay at “The Blue Light “ would, if not cure him, at least ease the constant pain.

“I don’t know how I can thank you Reverend for everything you and Mrs Graham have done for Uncle Lamb.”

“My dear, Q and I go back a very long way. It’s what you do for your friends.”

Within minutes they had arrived and were welcomed by a lovely young woman.

“My name is Delphine. We have been expecting you. Please come into the parlour and Maître Raymond will be with you shortly.”

We entered the room and got Uncle Lamb settled in a cosy armchair while Reverend Wakefield took our bags to our rooms. I had arranged to stay for a short time with my uncle to learn more about the treatments they offered . 

Looking around the parlour, I noticed a similarity to the study at the manse. Walls filled with shelves, some containing ancient looking books and scrolls and strange artifacts including a number of unidentifiable skulls and bones. It also had an aroma, not of pipe smoke but of a mixture of herbs. A number of shelves contained what looked like antique apothecary jars complete with Latin inscriptions. There were strange symbols painted around the tops of the walls.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Beauchamp and to you Madonna.”


	3. Master Raymond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Uncle Lamb meet with Master Raymond

“Bonjour, Monsieur Beauchamp and to you Madonna.”

I whirled around and found myself face to face with a very short and strange looking man. I hadn’t heard him enter the room. It was as if he had just appeared from nowhere.

Master Raymond Crapaud was a most peculiar looking man. Barrel chested and bandy legged with a high forehead, long silver-grey hair and slightly bulbous black eyes dressed in a waistcoat embroidered in what seemed to be strange symbols . Overall he resembled a frog.

Those eyes seemed to look straight through me into my very soul. It was unnerving but not threatening. It was a feeling of kindred spirits meeting and not for the first time either. As if we had known each other in another lifetime.

“Welcome to Blue Light.” he said shaking hands with Uncle Lamb. “I hope that my colleagues and I can help relieve your suffering Professor. And you, Madonna, I understand that you are a healer.”

I took a step towards him and extended my hand. I gasped as he took my hand in his broad and almost square one. A warm tingling feeling made its way up my arm and into my chest. I was suddenly at ease not realising how tense I had been.

“I’m a surgeon. I’ve just finished my residency.”

“I have spoken to your friend, Dr Abernathy and understand that you are interested in our methods. I see in you great compassion and a keen mind. I would welcome the opportunity to expand your knowledge.”

I thanked him and he called Delphine to take us to our rooms. He encouraged Uncle Lamb to try and rest for a few hours and that he would be up to see him later that afternoon. I would be welcome to take a look around while my Uncle was resting.

On our way upstairs I realised that the building wasn’t anything like a hospital. It looked like something transposed from the 18th century. 18th century France to be exact. I had been to Versailles with Uncle Lamb during our time excavating Bibracte in Burgandy. Although there was not the richness or garishness of that palace , the rooms echoed the timeframe.

After I got him settled in the very comfortable bed ( again unlike a hospital bed), I urged him to sleep. God knows he needed it. 

I made my way back downstairs to get a sense of the kinds of treatments that Blue Light offered. Turning the corner from the staircase I literally bumped into a figure obviously in a hurry. I grabbed her shoulders to stop us both from falling.

Apologising, I found myself looking into bright green eyes.

“Dinna fash, ‘Twas my fault entirely. I wasna looking where I was going. I’m Gillian. Gillian Edgars. I’m one of the herbalists here.”

“Claire Beauchamp.” I replied, holding out my hand to shake hers. “I’ve just arrived with my Uncle.”

“Aye, a surgeon are ye not Claire? Master Raymond mentioned that ye’d be biding with us awhile.”

“Yes, I’m very interested in the methods and treatments you use. Master Raymond has given me permission to look around.”

“Mayhap ye’d like to come with me then, Claire. I’m heading to the apothecary. I can show ye what it is we do there.”

Gillian took my arm and lead me down the hallway to an outside door that lead out into a cottage garden. Just outside the door she reached for a couple of baskets and handed me one along with a small knife shaped like a dagger. I looked at her quizzically. 

“It’s a sgian-dhu. Highlanders would ne’er leave home without at least one of these tucked away in their stockings or concealed somewhere else on their person. I use them for harvesting my wee herbs. There’s nae sharper blade and it fits nicely in my hand.” She replied with a smile.

I examined the blade. “Where did you get them? They’re old, aren’t they? I’d say about 18th century.”

Gillian looked at me with amazement. “And how would you know that?”

I chuckled. “My uncle is an archeologist. I spent my childhood going from dig to dig with him. We traveled all over the world finding artifacts.”

“Aah, good Scottish steel these are. Not like the tin looking ones they shove in their socks at the gatherings these days. Those ones are just for show. One of the other therapists got them for me. He comes across antiques now and then.”

Gillian and I walked out into the garden. Besides the vast collection of herbs, there was a field filled with vegetables of all kinds and a large greenhouse. 

“We grow all our own organic food here. ‘Tis better for the patients.”

I was familiar with quite a few of the more common herbs; garlic , wormwood, turmeric, aloe vera, oregano, parsley and St Johns Wort. Gillian pointed out some of the more exotic ones. “Black cohosh comes from North America. Ye should never use it if a woman is expecting a bairn as it can cause a miscarriage. There’s also milk thistle, plantain, cats claw and periwinkle among others. The remedies are made in different ways, tinctures, teas, poultices etc Ye ken?”

I was astounded at Gillian’s knowledge. She showed me how to pick various herbs that she needed immediately to make her preparations and then led me to a small building to the side of the garden. As I entered I noticed bunches of plants drying on special racks, jars of already dried plant material as well as mortar and pestle on the well ordered work surface. 

Above the door I spied a clock- 3.45pm. l had been so absorbed listening to Gillian about how herbal treatments worked I had lost track of time. 

“Gillian, I hope you’ll excuse me but I have an appointment with Master Raymond at 4. Can we catch up again before I leave? I’d like to learn more.”

“Aye of course Claire. Join us for supper tonight and I can introduce ye to a few of my colleagues.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to the room I had been allocated and freshened up. It felt so good to spend time in the fresh air and sunshine. I knocked on the door of the adjoining room. Uncle Lamb bade me enter and it was obvious that the sleep had done him the world of good. 

We made our way down the stairs back to Master Raymond’s office.

“Come in, come in,” he said welcomingly “ I hope you had a good afternoon.”

He indicated a comfortable looking sofa. I lead Uncle Lamb towards it and sat down.

The door opened and a rather rotund but motherly woman entered the room carrying a tray laden with a teapot, cups and a large plate of sandwiches and homemade cakes and biscuits.

“This is Mrs Fitzgibbon, who runs our kitchen. She’s a marvel. If you have any special dietary needs, just let her know.“

“Och, Master Raymond, away wi ye. Enough of your flattery. Tis just a cook I am but I do know a wee bit aboot making good wholesome food to build up people who are puirly .” She said with a twinkle in her eyes. “And who might these lovely people be?”

“Mon dieu, mes excuses, Mrs Fitz, this is Monsieur Professor Beauchamp who has come to us for treatment and his charmant niece, Dr Beauchamp, a surgeon. She will be staying with us for a time, learning about the therapies we offer here.”

“Claire, please” I said.

Weel then Claire, I’m verra pleased to meet ye. And ye too Professor. “

“Just call me Lamb” said Uncle Lamb with a smile.

“Weel I’d best be off to tend to the serving. Yer welcome te come see the kitchen whenere ye’ve a mind tae.” And with a broad smile she bustled off

Pouring the tea, Master Raymond explained the philosophy of the centre.

“Here at the Blue Light we embrace many complimentary therapies. Herbal remedies, music, eastern medicine, meditation, equine therapy as well as many others according to the needs of each patient. All our practitioners are volunteers, many have their own clinics or have other professions but have experience in their own discipline. All healing is done essentially by reaching the...what shall we call it? the soul? the essence? say, the center. By reaching the patient's center, from which they can heal themselves. Therefore each patient has their own journey using which ever therapies that call to them. We are only here to provide the individual with the ones that will lead them to their destination.”

Uncle Lamb brightened. “So when do I start. As Lao Tzu said, ‘The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.’”

“Perhaps you would leave us to talk alone, Madonna. As much as I know you want to help your uncle, I must have time with him to ascertain the best course of treatment.”

I began to protest but Uncle Lamb took my hand reassuringly. “It’ll be best this way, Chick. I’ll see you later on.”

Master Raymond lead me to the door. “I have arranged for you to have a tour with our acupuncturist, Yi Tien Cho. He will escort you around the centre and explain some of the things we have available. I’d also like to invite you to have dinner with us tonight so you can meet the staff. Don’t worry, Madonna. You’re uncle is in good hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my first fanfic. Trying to get the story going but feel like I’m getting bogged down in the details. Aargh!


	4. The SCA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets Yi Tien Cho.

Ye Tien Cho was, as his name suggested, Chinese. On meeting him, he bowed deeply as was his custom. He dressed in traditional pajama like Chinese garments and sported a long black queue. 

“I am very pleased to meet you, Claire.”

“Likewise, Ye Tien Cho.” I replied stumbling slightly on the pronunciation of his name.

“If it is a little easier you may call me Mr Willoughby.”

“But why?”

He chuckled. “Here Ye Tien Cho sounds like a course word in Gaelic if not pronounced properly so some prefer to call me this.”

“Oh I see,” I said blushing a little. 

As we walked around the facility he pointed out the areas where each of the various treatments and therapies were performed. I was curious about his specialty.

“Besides acupuncture, I also teach tai chi and practice Chinese medicine. I work here full time.”

“Master Raymond told us that you were all volunteers.”

“That is true however I am an exception. I owe Master Raymond my life so I have dedicated it to his vision.”

I asked him to explain what he meant. He lead me to a park bench under a huge oak. We sat companionably as he told me his story.

“I was a mandarin - a scholar working for the communist government in China under Mao Zedong. I was gifted in the art of composition and was recruited by the department of propaganda. I was taken under the wing of another mandarin, Wu-Xien who recognised my talents. I rose rapidly through the ranks, achieving eminence before my 26th birthday, my work was noticed by party leaders. However, there was another who was jealous of what I had achieved and his father had influence in the government. Some of my writings were deemed to be subversive and I was to be detained under loajioi. My uncle was a servant in the government quarters and heard that this was to be and warned me.

Loajioi means reeducation through labour which meant that I was to be sent to a prison farm. I knew that the labourers were treated cruelly, beaten and starved so I decided to escape before I was captured. On the Night of the Lanterns, when the streets were crowded and the watchmen distracted, I disguised myself as a rickshaw driver and fled the city. I was almost caught the next day as my hands still bore the stains of ink, a sign of a mandarin. Eventually I made it to Chiwan Port and stowed away on a cargo ship. The ship was the Serafina, bound for Edinburgh. I was starving and very sick when I was found a few weeks later by a sailor who was inspecting the cargo. 

When the ship docked, I was detained by the port authorities and quarantined. Master Raymond treated me for my illness and convinced the immigration department to release me under his custody and protection. It was then that he brought me here and I have made this my home. I serve the patients here as repayment for what Master Raymond did for me. It is not many who know what I owe him.”

I had been enthralled by his tale.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me. I am honoured that you trust me enough to tell me.”

“I see something special about you, Claire. Something in your heart that will make you a most powerful healer.”

I was about to ask him what he meant when the sound of a gong rang through the air.

“Ahh, dinner. You will join us? Your uncle will be eating with the other patients. It will do him good to meet others who are sharing this journey with him.”

“Very well then.” I answered following him to the staff dining room.

Gillian was already seated at one of the tables with a few others and waved us over to join them.

“Everyone, this is Claire.” she said by way of introduction. “Claire, this is Gwyllyn Bard, our music therapist. He’s from Cardiff.” We shook hands as Gillian indicated an older weathered and stern looking man, probably in his sixties. “This is Alec. He’s actually retired but fills in every now and then when our usual equine therapist is traveling.” He nodded in acknowledgment, making a sound in his throat that I was beginning to recognise as that Scottish noise.

She continued around the table which contained others who contributed to the wellbeing of the patients; massage therapist, naturopath, homeopath, osteopath and iridologist.

I was amazed at the many professionals who gave their time so freely. After talking to them for awhile I found a common thread- each one had been helped at some time by Master Raymond.

“Enough shop talk for tonight, Claire. Actually I want to ask ye a wee favour.” Said Gillian. “have ye heard of the Society for Creative Anachronism?”

I looked blankly at her. 

“Obviously not then. The SCA is devoted to the research and re-creation of usually pre-seventeenth century skills, arts, combat, culture, and the like, employing knowledge of history to enrich the lives of participants through events, demonstrations, and other educational presentations and activities. Here in the highlands, ‘tis slightly different with us concentrating more on the 18th century with the lead up to and recreation of the Battle of Culloden.”  
I know you have an interest in history, Claire, what with yer uncle an archeologist and all.”

“What exactly are you asking, Gillian?”

“Most of us here are members with interests in various aspects but we recently lost our medical officer, Davy Beaton. He felt it was time to retire and move to London to spend more time with his children and grandchildren. We need someone to step in.”

“Surely with all the medical knowledge you all have there, you could find someone else.” I asked.

Gillian shook her head “According to the charter, for us to run re-enactments we need a qualified MD on site especially during practice sessions.”

“But what about Uncle Lamb? He needs me.”

“What he needs is to be concentrating on his healing. There’s no much ye can do while he is going through his therapies. Please Claire.” She pleaded.

“Let me think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting.


	5. It’s in your genes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chat with Master Raymond reveals some strange information

LATER THAT EVENING...

After the dinner with the staff, I had more of an idea of what was offered at Blue Light. On my way up to my room I passed the open door of Master Raymond’s office. 

“Madonna, would you please come in for a moment.”

He indicated the same sofa where I’d sat previously then came and sat beside me. 

“How was your first day with us?”

“It’s been interesting. I’m intrigued as to how you managed to find such an array of different therapists who were willing to volunteer.”

“Each one has his story. We meet at the proper time. Now as for you, Madonna, it is your uncle who brought us together.”

“I’m not sure how I would be able to help coming from a purely medical perspective.”

“I see more than that in you, Madonna . You have a healer’s heart. You have the soul of an old one.”

“Master Raymond, why do you keep calling me Madonna?”

“Ah, to explain this I must first tell you about my gifts and a little about myself. The woman I called Mother was French. She was called Sirona and was considered a wise woman in the small provincial town in which I grew up. There was a small Benedictine convent in the town and the Reverend Mother, Mother Hildegard, ran un petit hopital, L’Hopital des Anges. There, she and the nuns tended the sick and injured and would sometimes ask for Sirona’s assistance. 

One day a young woman was found in a ditch by a farmer, wracked with fever and heavy with child. He brought her to Mother Hildegard who called Sirona to tend to her. The girl soon went into labour and was now unconscious due to the fever. It was a very long labour and both Mother Hildegard and Sirona feared for the girl’s life. She started to bleed heavily and there was little hope of survival. They could however try to save the child. To do this they would have to deliver the baby surgically so I was cut from my mother’s womb as she drew her last breath. 

Sirona felt an immediate bond with me as she wiped away the blood on my body. She said that it was like an energy that pulled us to one another. She was the one that I called Maman.”

Master Raymond rose from the sofa and went to the desk on which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses. He filled them and handed me one. I took a sip of the delicious burgundy and waited for him to continue.

“Sirona raised me and would take me with her as she visited the sick. She recognised within me a talent for knowing just what ailed her patients from the time I was very small. I had a gift for healing.”

He took my hand in his and again I felt that tingling feeling I had felt when we first met. This time it was accompanied by a blue glow that danced over our hands. Shocked, I withdrew my hand from his and looked at him for an explanation. 

“You asked me why I called you Madonna. Each person has a colour that surrounds them, an aura if you like. Yours is blue, the colour of the Virgin’s cloak, the colour of peace and healing. Mine is also blue. You have within you a power that is yet unknown to you. Am I right that you often feel what is wrong with your patients before they tell you their symptoms?”

He was right. I’d often been frustrated by senior doctors who ordered a barrage of tests for patients for what l felt was an obvious diagnosis. Was it really a power or gift like Master Raymond suggested? Was it all hocus pocus? Did I really believe in supernatural powers and why would I of all people have that ability?

He looked directly at me and I saw a truth in his eyes.

“I thought so.” I wasn’t sure that I liked the way he seemed to read my thoughts.”You were meant to come here and your uncle’s illness was the pathway to us. I would like to ask you to remain for a time and study with me . I believe you have the ability to heal with your soul and I would be privileged to help you understand and develop your skills.”

I considered his proposal as I finished my wine. It was a lot to take in all at once however Master Raymond had an honesty about him. I remembered that immediate connection I felt on our initial meeting.

“I have taken a months leave of absence from my job in London to support Uncle Lamb during his stay here.” I replied. “I’m intrigued by what you have told me but I’m not sure how much I could learn in that time. Isn’t a little knowledge a dangerous thing?”

“Madonna, you will be amazed at how much you already know. It is often a talent that runs in families. Go now and see your uncle. Talk to him about it and give me an answer in the morning. Bonne nuit, ma Cher.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“So what do you think?” I asked Uncle Lamb. 

I sat at the end of his bed to where he had already retired. He appeared to have more colour in his face and seemed more relaxed than the previous day.

“Did you know that healing in your Beauchamp genes?”

I looked at quizzically remembering what Master Raymond had said.

“What do you mean? Daddy was an architect and Grandpa was a baker. I don’t remember any doctors in our family tree.”

Uncle Lamb pulled out his IPad.

“Scooch up here and I’ll show you something.” He said patting the bed beside him.

I sat beside him as he opened a genealogy app on the tablet.

“See here? Your six times great grandmother was also a Claire. She was born in 1718 in France and both her parents, Henri and Juliana died of smallpox that devastated the town when she was young. She was taken to a convent along with other children who had survived the epidemic. She had a talent for growing things and soon learned the ways of preparing herbal preparations from the nuns who ran a small hospital. She was soon well known as a healer and a wise woman and traveled far and wide dispensing her tinctures and teas and restoring the folk she visited to health. Her reputation took her to Paris and it was there that she was given the title ‘La Dame Blanche’. 

“La Dame Blanche? The white lady?”

Uncle Lamb then explained the myth of the white ladies, who were mainly healers but some took an interest in the occult and were often regarded as witches, not a favourable thing to be in the 18th century.

“Claire had a child out of wedlock, the family story has her falling in love with a Scottish mercenary who was killed in battle. She called him William and sent him to live with relatives in England. She had heard that the French king had decreed that heretics be rounded up and executed. As a wise woman she would be on his radar and was determined that her son would be safe. Her foresight saved him as she was convicted of being a witch and burned at the stake in 1743. She was only 25 years old.”

“So do you really believe what Master Raymond says could be true? That I could have some kind of mystical powers? You’re a rational person. Surely you don’t think that anything like this really exists?”

“Darling girl, in all my travels I have come across witch doctors, shamans and medicine men amongst the people in remote areas of the world. I can’t explain the fact that some managed to bring people back from the brink of death without the benefits of modern medicine. I’ve always had kept an open mind. Perhaps there’s some truth about it. You came here for a month to help me but to be honest I have had enough of modern medicine. I’ve decided that if the therapies offered here don’t help at least I can leave this mortal coil knowing that I tried everything. You in the meantime can open your mind to the possibility that Raymond’s claims might have some substance to them.”

My mind was whirling, not knowing what to do. 

“I suppose I could at least meet with him again and see what happens.”

“Good girl, now off you go. Try and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I hope this isn’t too wordy. Please be patient with me. Any ideas or constructive comments would be welcome.


	6. J’ARRIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire arrives at the SCA gathering with Gillian and makes a new friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have promised that a certain red head would appear in this chapter but I didn’t want it to get too lengthy.
> 
> I really promise it won’t be long before he makes an appearance.

J’ARRIVE

Here was I picturing a bunch of geeks in cosplay costumes, gallivanting around with plastic swords when I arrived at the farm early in the morning with Gillian. Either that or a group of wannabe princesses and poncy kings in medieval garb and modern tents with tacky pennants and fake coats of arms.

Boy, was I wrong!

What I found was a stunning backdrop of a 18th century manor house beautifully restored, complete with outbuildings and a slightly wonky tower a little way up the hill. By the look of it, it still functioned as a working estate complete with a flock of sheep grazing on the hillside, long horned shaggy highland cattle in the meadow alongside the driveway and horses being saddled up in the dooryard.

There was a small row of booths that appeared to be set up like a village market would have been in the 1700’s. A few people were busy setting up their stalls with handmade goods that appeared to be in keeping with what may have been sold at that time.

Gillian lifted the boot of her hatchback and started unloading baskets of jars, bottles and vials. 

“The first aid room is inside the house. Just let yourself in the door and ask for Janet. She’ll take you through.” and with that she hurried off towards the booths. 

A set of stone steps lead up to the doorway. On the door jamb, I noticed marks that looked like they were left behind by a sword. 

“We leave them there to remind us of our history, ye ken.” I heard a voice say from the hallway. I looked up to see a woman barely five feet tall with raven black hair and dark blue catlike eyes. She reminded me of a small bird, ready to fly here and there, busily tending to her nest. 

She smiled at me. “Ye must be Claire. Geillis told me to expect you.”

“Geillis?” I asked “who’s Geillis?”

“Och, it’s Gillian I’m meaning. She goes by Geillis Duncan at our gatherings. We all have an alias in keeping with SCA tradition. I’m Jenny Fraser but go by Janet Murray. She was one of my ancestors. I’m sae pleased te meet ye.”

“I’m glad to meet you too. Jenny...er...Janet.” shaking the hand she offered.

“ Come wi’ me and show ye what Davey Beaton called his ‘surgery ‘ then we’ll get ye kitted oot.” 

“Kitted out?”

“Aye, dinna Geillis tell ye? We all wear period costume while the gathering’s on. My mother was tall and queenly like ye. I’m sure we can find something to fit ye among her things.”

She lead the way to the ‘surgery’. Located just off the kitchen it looked like it had been a dungeon in a previous incarnation. Jenny assured me that it had been the still room and the overhead racks were used for the drying of herbs. It even had the original hearth with a metal hook that swung out where a cauldron would have been hung. 

Besides the assortment of modern medical instruments, dressings and other paraphernalia, there were shelves holding antique apothecary jars labeled with the botanical names of various herbs. Since making friends with Gillian (or Geillis depending on where she was) my interest in herbal medicine had piqued and I was keen to learn more from her. 

Not sure of the kinds of injuries or illnesses I may need to treat during the week long gathering, it was important to sort through what was there and arrange it so that I could find things as I needed them. Apparently though, my change of dress was first on the agenda.

 

Jenny bustled me up the staircase and down the hallway to a room at the end. She swung open the solid oak door to reveal a bedroom that housed a large four poster bed, complete with curtains. The walls were covered with what looked like authentic tapestries of the same period of the house in remarkable condition. The whole room was decorated in various shades of blue.

“This is the lairds room. In the days before Culloden, my forebears had the title of Lord and Lady Broch Turoch and this is where they would have slept. My parents were the last couple to use it and my brothers and I were birthed in this very bed.” Jenny explained.

“It’s stunning. The tapestries are in such good condition. Are they real or reproductions?”

“Aye, they’re real. 18th century.” she replied.

“Very early 1700’s, if I’m correct? And the bed would be about the same vintage?” I surmised.

Jenny looked at me with interest. “Ye ken a bit about the furniture of the time. Is it a historian ye’d be as well as a doctor?”

“No, not really. It’s just that my uncle is a historian and archeologist and raised me from the time I was five. I grew up in museums and on archeological digs. You soon learn how to recognise the styles of various artifacts.”

Jenny turned to a beautifully carved chest at the end of the bed and lifted the lid. The smell of cedar and lavender assailed my nostrils. She drew an assortment of clothes from the chest and laid them on the bed. I knew from just looking at them that they were old but they looked very well preserved. 

“My mother wore these when she started the SCA branch here twenty years ago with my father. They wanted us to learn about our heritage and be proud of what our ancestors fought for. “

“Jenny, they’re gorgeous. Are you sure she wouldn’t mind me wearing them?”

“You know what they say about Scots, Claire, we’re a thrifty bunch. We’ll see nought go to waste. ‘tis time they saw the light of day once more. I have a good feeling about ye, Claire. I know ye will appreciate them. They’d nae fit me without a lot of alterations. They’ve been waiting here for just the right person to wear them. Come. Let me help ye into them.”

She directed me to a four panelled screen, again of the period, handing me a muslin shift.

“Just pop back there and put this on. It’s totally up tae ye whether ye go the whole Scottish way but ye’ll be wearing stays so nae bra.” she said with a smile that was almost a smirk expecting me to be shocked. 

I smiled back at her. I knew what to expect in the layers I’d be given to wear as I’d spent a summer with a colleague of Uncle Lamb’s who was a curator at the National Museum of Scotland. As I got out of my 21st century clothing, I told Jenny about my time with her as a teenager, helping put together an exhibition of pre and post Culloden clothing.

“Aye, then ye’ll know how it all goes taegether.” she remarked. I think that she was a little disappointed that I wasn’t more nervous. 

“I’ll still need your help to get it all sorted though, especially the stays.” I replied with a grin.

I emerged from behind the screen in the shift. Jenny lifted one eyebrow when she noticed that I’d kept my knickers on. 

“I’m not sure if Im quite ready for the whole Scottish experience quite yet.” I said with a small giggle.  
On went the stockings tied above the knees, then the stays. Jenny seemed to delight in pulling the laces as tight as she possibly could. Next two petticoats, the bum roll and finally the woollen dress. The dress was a subtle tartan of grey, brown and pale blue with a thin red line. My short boots that I had worn with my jeans didn’t look too out of place.

“Fraser colours” she said proudly. “Ye look bonny, Claire.”

I turned to the long mirror on it’s stand. I hardly recognised myself.

As I turned back to Jenny I noticed that above the mantle was a framed standard, the Saltaire. On it was embroidered a broadsword and a banner upon which the words, ‘Je Suis Prest’ were emblazoned. ‘I am ready’ I translated from the French. Well I suppose I was as ready as I’d ever be.

 

“Thank you so much, Jenny. Are you sure you’re ok with me wearing your mother’s outfit?”

“Aye I’m sure. Mam would be pleased it’s getting some use.”

Jenny and I decided that it would take too long to try and tame my wayward mop of curls if I was to make any headway with organising my surgery so I left them loose.

On our way back down to the still room, Jenny excused herself. She still had much to do before the gathering got underway. 

“If ye need anything just let me know. I’m sure ye’ll have plenty to be getting on with.” And with that she flitted off.


	7. What’s in a name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire prepares the surgery for business

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

 

It didn’t take as long as I suspected to sort out and tidy the surgery to my liking. Someone had obviously been in there very recently to clean and everything was now in order. Besides the obvious bandages, sutures, dressing packs and a more than adequate first aid kit, Davey Beaton had left behind his doctors bag and a comprehensive log book of cases that he’d treated. As well as being the SCA medico, he had also been the local doctor for the village of Broch Morda and a vast surrounding area for nearly fifty years.

His case book not only showed his medical knowledge but also a keen interest in the use of botanicals as complimentary treatments. I was just about to settle down to read it when there was a knock on the door. Gillian popped her head inside. A smile came to her face when she saw my costume. She entered the room dressed in a similar outfit. 

“Are ye all sorted yet, Claire?” she asked. I nodded. “Ye look grand. Come on out then and I’ll show ye around. If anyone needs ye, they’ll find ye.”

She took my arm and linked it with hers and led me back outside. It was looking to be a beautiful day. I was used to Scottish weather and its propensity for rain in its many forms- from stoating, when the rain falls so hard that it bounces off the ground to a smirr , a fine drizzle. Today however there was not a cloud in the cerulean sky.

We wandered down towards the booths where Gillian had set up her bottles of tinctures and jars of ointments, creams and dried herbs.

“Gillian, Jenny called you Geillis earlier and told me about SCA names but how does it work. Do you choose your own name or is it chosen for you?” 

“We do things a little different here in Scotland. Strictly members of the SCA choose a random name having researched names of the period and choosing one to reflect the character they are portraying. A man who has a stall selling bread may use John Baker as his pseudonym. They allow just about anything except the names of real historical figures. We have a slightly different tradition where we choose the names of one of our ancestors. If you ask just about any highlander, they could tell ye the names of his ancestors back a fair number of generations.”

Jenny had already told me that she’d taken the name of her ancestor, Janet Murray but I was curious about Gillian’s choice.

“So who was Geillis?”

“Geillis Duncan was my many times over great grandmother. She was a powerful healer but accused of witchcraft and tortured until she confessed. She was to be burned at the stake but was found to be with child. They couldn’t kill the innocent child so would wait until she had given birth. She was kept in the thieves hole in the meantime. One morning though when the guards went to check on her they found it empty but the hatch still locked.

The villagers took this as absolute truth that she was indeed a witch but the true story was less supernatural. The father of the bairn, a local clan war chief, had merely gotten the guards roaring drunk, stolen the key and released her locking the hatch behind them, fleeing to his own estate deeper into the highlands. The guards, worried about being found to have been derelict in their duties fabricated a tale of Geillis turning herself into a raven and flying through the bars.”

I was struck by the similarity between Geillis’ tale and the story Uncle Lamb had told me of my namesake. When I told her what my uncle had imparted to me, her eyes widened.

“La Dame Blanche, ye say. Weel there’s a legacy to be proud of.” She looked at my astonished face. “Aye, I ken who she was. I thought yer name sounded familiar and now I ken why. There are many links between Scotland and France over the centuries and she was well known here as well. Mayhap ye should just use yer own name until something else presents itself and feels right.”

We’d reached the marketplace and Geillis showed me the assortment of goods on her stall. Lovely scented hand creams and body lotions, ointments for burns and small paper pouches filled with blends of herbs for teas to remedy just about anything from motion sickness to a fierce hangover. She handed me a jar labeled Burn ointment. I screwed off the lid and smelled the soft white cream.

“What is it ye can smell?” Geillis asked curiously.

“Honey, coconut, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“That’d be aloe vera. Ye might like to take this just in case ye need it. Davey often came to me for a remedy or twae. In real life, I run an online shop selling my wares. I’m fortunate that that gies my the flexibility to volunteer with Master Raymond.” She explained. 

Geillis and I had been so deep in discussion that I hadn’t really noticed my surroundings. As I looked around, my eyes were assaulted by a riot of tartan. Not the bright modern tartans that were the trademark of souvenir shops but the muted colours of the Scottish countryside. Browns, greens, blues and greys with a flash of red or yellow. The different patterns were subtle but each denoting a person’s familial ties.

Each person was busy setting up various activities, pausing to greet friends as they passed by. Geillis introduced me to the program for the day and pointed out where various demonstrations and activities would be held. I was feeling a little superfluous.

“The shinty tournament starts at 11. I’ll wager there will be plenty to keep ye busy then.”

Shinty, I’d learned, was something akin to hockey but without the rules and by all reports a lot more brutal. I excused myself to Geillis heading back to my surgery to prepare for a possible onslaught of bruised and battered highlanders. 

I found on the table a large basket of bannocks still warm from the oven, a pot of strawberry jam and some fresh butter along with a note.

“Thought ye may be feeling a wee bit peckish.  
Ice packs for later are in the scullery freezer. 

Jenny “

I smiled at her thoughtfulness but wondered how on earth she expected me to possibly eat that much.

I’d just buttered a bannock when my first patient arrived. A large splinter stuck in the hand of a 13 year old boy who introduced himself as Rabbie McNabb. Splinter extracted, wound disinfected and dressed, I told him he was free to go. Rabbie looked longingly at the basket and I understood Jenny’s generosity. I waved him towards it.

“Mistress Murray makes the best bannocks ever.” Rabbie declared. “Me Mam sometimes works with her in the kitchen and brings some home.” He just about inhaled the first bannock and his eyes pleaded for more. I laughed as I nodded towards the basket and watched him scoot out the door with two bannocks in his fist. 

I had just faithfully entered the case in Davey Beaton’s log book when I heard a crash and a cry of pain from the direction of the kitchen. To my surprise, Mrs Fitz stood at the sink with Jenny her hand under the running tap cooling what looked like a nasty scald.

“I said I’d tend tae the kettle.” Jenny berated. 

I examined her hand and after twenty minutes under cold water, Mrs Fitz looked much more comfortable. 

“Ye wouldn’t have a wee smidge of Geillis’ ointment would ye?” She asked. 

I took her down to the surgery and applied the ointment and a dressing to her hand while she explained how it was that she happened to be in Jenny’s kitchen.

“Most of the healers from Blue Light are members of the SCA and Master Raymond encourages patients to come to the gathering as a wee bit of respite from the clinic. Yer uncle should be arriving soon on the mini bus. He was sae excited to be coming.”

Like a kid in a sweet shop I thought with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient regarding our red headed friends appearance. It won’t be long now ☺️


	8. Just like hockey without the rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shinty match keeps Claire busy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes he’s finally arrived!!!

During the previous week I had spent a lot of time with Geillis learning about her craft. She taught me about preparing tinctures and teas, ointments and salves. Each evening I spent time with Uncle Lamb talking about his day. Each day after lunch I met with Master Raymond in his office. 

I still struggled to wrap my head around the idea of having some sort of what he called powers. 

While I was musing on this, Jenny came down to the surgery carrying a large wicker basket. It was obviously heavy as she was red in the face.

Looking at her, the question in my mind.

“Ice packs.” She replied seeing the quizzical look on my face. “I’ll get a couple of the lads to carry it out to the pitch.

I picked up Davey Beaton’s doctors bag and followed Jenny out the door.

The shinty pitch was in a field a fair way from the house. The path was filled with supporters sporting team tartans. It was the season final. Leoch vs Lallybroch. McKenzies against Frasers. Banners sporting clan war cries : Tullach Ard and Caisteal Dhuni or clan flags similar to the one I saw in the Laird’s room were carried by the crowd.

Jenny directed me to a tent that had been set up as the first aid base right alongside the pitch. Jenny’s basket stood in the corner and a large first aid kit was beside it. As I set down the doctors bag on the table , I could hear the sound of bagpipes coming from different directions. Jenny grabbed me by the arm and led me to the edge of the pitch when a section had been cordoned off. To my delight Uncle Lamb was there seated on a camp chair. Jenny gave me a conspiratorial grin and headed off into the crowd.

“Surprise Darling girl.” He said with glee giving me a huge hug. 

“I’m so glad you felt up to coming.” In just a week his appearance had improved, a more healthy colour in his face and a spring in his step. 

The swirl of the pipes grew louder as they came over the rise leading the teams dressed in sarks and kilts. Leoch’s captain was an imposing figure at about six feet tall. Looking to be in his early fifties, he looked fit, muscular and menacing. He strode along the path purposefully, looking confident and leading his eleven team mates toward the pitch. The crowd cheered in support. The war cry of the McKenzies echoed around the surrounding hills.

From the other direction came the Lallybroch team, kilts in the same tartan as my dress, swinging as they marched down the hill. At half the age of his opponent, the captain of the home team cut a dashing figure at six foot four, with a crown of the most glorious red curly hair glinting in the sun. A chiseled face with a strong jawline and the nose and cheek bones of his viking heritage. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of this highland warrior. Again the crowd roared at twice the volume as before. 

The teams lined up opposite each other on the field, the pipers at either end, the drone sounding. The spectators rose to their feet. At a nod from one of the pipers to the other they launched into the league song as the crowd sang at the tops of their lungs.

Hark when the night is falling  
Hear! Hear the pipes are calling  
Loudly and proudly calling  
Down through the glen.

There where the hills are sleeping  
Now feel the blood a-leaping  
High as the spirits of the old highland men.  
Towering in gallant fame  
Scotland my mountain hame  
High may your proud standards gloriously wave 

Land of my high endeavour  
Land of the shining river  
Land of my heart forever  
Scotland the brave.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. The teams took their positions 

At each end of the rectangular pitch was a goal not unlike a soccer goal now defended by a goal keeper. The goal keeper from the Leoch team was a large man not just in height but also in girth. It was unlikely that even a bulldozer would move him. The Lallybroch goal keeper was built more for speed and agility. The captains standing nose to nose in the centre circle, the Lallybroch Viking sporting a half smile which seemed to infuriate the older man who answered with menacing eyes.

The referee, a one armed man named Duncan Innes according to Jenny, warned them both.

“Let’s have a fair game, lads.” and with that he blew his whistle and threw up the ball. 

The Leoch captain swung high with his caman causing the red head to duck. He raced down the pitch whacking the ball toward the Leoch goal. The ball sailed through the air straight into the face of the young goalie. Blood poured down his face from a split eyebrow. Another Leoch player snapped the ball into the back of the net as the referee called the foul. A groan rose from the Leoch fans.

As my first patient made his way to the tent, the Lallybroch captain stepped up to take the free shot, the crowd started chanting; Mac Dubh, Mac Dubh, Mac Dubh. He flashed them a winning smile and smashed the ball through the Lallybroch goal. As the crowd screamed their pleasure, one of the Lallybroch players swung their caman in retribution for his teammates injury, catching a Leoch player in the ribs. Duncan again blew his whistle calling for calm. Play resumed with testosterone levels rising and foul after foul committed over the next forty five minutes until pandemonium ensued. Duncan tried to regain the field but retreated when he was chased off the field by a mad player. 

I had retreated to the first aid tent to attend to my first patient, the young goalie. I asked him his name. He surprised me answering with a French accent.

“Fergus Fraser, Milady.”

“Well, Fergus, I’m going to need to stitch you up.” I quickly attached a couple of butterfly clips to his eyebrow and Jenny called over Mary McNab, Rabbie’s mother, to take Fergus to the surgery until I could get there. 

“Just keep an eye on him please. If he starts feeling nauseous or dizzy or sleepy get someone to get me immediately.”

“Yes Mistress”

I took a stock of the injured players before me and made notes as I went:  
~Angus Mohr (Leoch)- blow to the groin- ice pack applied (Are ye sure ye dinna want to take a look at it Mistress? He’d asked with a toothless grin.)  
~ Alex Kincaid (Lallybroch) - split lip -ice pack applied  
~ Tammas Baxter (Leoch) - possible fracture of right wrist- splint applied and transfer to Inverness hospital  
~ Gavin Mohr (Lallybroch) - bruising to the ribs, probably broken- transfer to Inverness hospital 

And so it went on, bruises, scrapes, scratches and a few split lips but nothing major. I left Geillis and Jenny to deal with the minor cases as I went back to the surgery to stitch up young Fergus. 

As I entered I found not Mary but the viking sitting with Fergus, plying him with what I suspected was whiskey from a flask. I snatched it out of his hand.

“Are you mad?” I growled at him. “He may be concussed and he’s probably underage.”

“‘Tis but a wee nip.”

“Listen to me.” I said to him sternly. “Alcohol thins the blood and reduces the body's capacity to heal. Also, it is a vasodilator, and so it may cause swelling in the concussed area, which really not something you want when you've taken a knock to the head.”

“Sorry Mistress” he replied looking suitably chastised.

I turned to Fergus to attend to his wound. As I prepared the suture kit, I asked him the usual questions to rule out a head injury and checked his eyes with my torch. He answered my questions to my satisfaction. I removed the butterfly clips, sprayed a numbing agent on the wound, inserted four stitches and applied the dressing.

“I need to see you in 4 days and we’ll see about taking those stitches out. Come see me immediately if you have any headaches.”

“Oui Milady.” He replied as he went out the door. 

I turned around surprised to see the Scot still sitting in the chair by the window. His bowed face looked a little pale.

“Are you alright, Mr ....?”

“Mac Dubh.” he answered, raising his right hand “would ye perhaps be able to tend to my finger?”

His middle finger stuck out at an odd angle, clearly dislocated.

“Why didn’t you come see me at the first aid tent instead of waiting?” I said concerned.

“I had to see Fergus right first, Mistress, but it does pain me a little.”

I went to my bag and drew out a syringe and a vial of lignocaine. He took one look at the needle and paled even further. 

“Could ye nae do it without the wee sticker?”

“Surely a great hulk of a man like you isn’t afraid of a little prick?”

He raised his head and looked at me pleadingly with his dark blue eyes. Dark blue cat like eyes that I almost drowned in. 

I passed him the flask I’d previously taken from him and put away the needle. He took it gratefully and took a long draught. I reached for his hand and as we touched it was like an electric current flowed between us. I knew he felt it too. His eyes locked with mine.

“Are you ready?”

“Aye, Mistress.”

“Please call me Claire. Now breathe deeply .”

Getting a firm grip on his hand, I pulled his finger and set it into the right position.

“Sorcha” I heard him mutter as his breath escaped.

“Pardon?”

“Sorcha. It’s your name in the Gaelic. It means light.”

His eyes had never left my face. They reminded me of someone but I couldn’t recall who. Breaking eye contact, I busied myself with taping his finger to the one alongside it then put it up in a sling.

“You’ll need to ice it for for twenty minutes every three to four hours for the next couple of days. and try to avoid using that hand. I know that may be difficult.”

“Jest as weel I’m kackhanded then.”

“What?”

“I’m a lefty.” he said with a grin that almost completely undid me. “I’ll be taking my leave of ye now Claire. Thank ye for yer tending.”

“You’re welcome. I’d like to see you again in a few days to check how the finger is coming along.”

“I’d like to see ye too.” He said to himself as he left the surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having never seen a game of shinty (except in season 1 Ep3) I’ve had to be a little creative. I apologise if I got it totally wrong.


	9. Curiouser and curiouser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something just doesn’t add up

I’d just finished tidying up the surgery when Jenny arrived carrying what I now claimed as my doctors bag. Finders keepers, I figured.

“Geillis is rounding up a couple of the lads to bring up my basket... and here they come now, Lard Bucket and Big Head.”

Angus and the large Leoch goalie brought in the basket and deposited it in the corner of the room. Angus did sport a curiously large head and the goalie looked like he didn’t mind seconds or maybe thirds at dinner. 

“Now Janet that’s nae a nice thing to say about yer cousin and us taking our time tae help ye oot.” The goalie turned to me and introduced himself, bowing as he did so.

“Rupert McKenzie, at yer service.”

I replied with a curtsy and a smile.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Rupert.” Turning to Angus, I enquired about how he was feeling.

“A little frosty but in guid working order. Are ye sure ye dinna want to inspect it closer?”

Rupert cuffed him over the head.

“Tha’s nae how ye speak tae a lady. Beggin’ yer pardon Mistress. Will ye be staying fer the Callin’?”

Confused, I turned to Jenny for an explanation. 

“‘Tis the Calling of the Clans, Claire. A wee tradition we like tae keep. Always on the first night of the gathering.”

“I’d be delighted to come, thank you Rupert. May I bring my uncle?”

“Aye, of course, the more the merrier.”

Jenny shooed them out the door with instructions to go make themselves useful helping Dougal with building the bonfire.

I admired Jenny’s organisational skills and told her so.

“Och,they’d sit around all day drinking and ogling the womenfolk if I didn’t give them things to be getting on with.”

Jenny always seemed to be busy making sure that everything ran like a well oiled machine.

“Would ye like tae join me fer a wee cup of tea, Claire?”

Thinking that I’d like nothing more, I really wanted to check on Uncle Lamb. 

In her uncanny way of reading my thoughts, Jenny said “I’m sure yer uncle would probably like to put his feet up fer a wee while. Why dinna ye go find him and bring him tae the parlour in say, ten minutes?”

I nodded and excused myself as she left in the direction of the kitchen.

I found Uncle Lamb near one of the outbuildings that served as a smithy chatting to the blacksmith. He was flagging and indeed looked as if he could do with a rest. I told him of Jenny’s invitation and he was eager to see inside the house.

Jenny rose from her chair as she heard us approach. She led Uncle Lamb to a comfortable armchair as I sat down on the sofa. Within moments a lady wearing an apron, brought in a huge tray with a silver tea service and a plate of shortbread and Dundee cake.

“Shall I pour, Miss Jenny?”

“Nae Thank ye, Mrs Crook, I’ll manage.” Jenny said. “Why don’t ye and Mrs Fitz take a wee break yerselves? Ye’ve been hard at it today and ye’ll be needed later fer the serving.”

“Aye, thank ye.” she replied as she left the room.

I could see Uncle Lamb drinking in his surroundings with an archeologists eye. 

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Miss Fraser.”

“Yer most welcome, Professor Beauchamp. I thought a historian such as yerself would appreciate it plus a chance tae put yer feet up. Claire tells me how ye’ve been puirly.”

“No need to be so formal. Please call me Lamb. All Claire’s friends do and yes, I’ve not been well but getting better day by day.”

“So then yer tae call me Jenny as all my friends do.” She said with a smile.

Jenny passed around the tea as Uncle Lamb asked her about the history of Lallybroch.

“‘Twas built in the early 1700’s by my ancestor, Black Brian. He laid each stone wi’ his ain hands. ‘Twas a labour of love as he had his eye on a lass, Ellen McKenzie and wanted a home worthy of her. They had met at a gathering and knew they were meant to be together. Her father, the McKenzie of Leoch, had other ideas and had promised her tae Malcolm Grant tae cement an alliance between the clans. Brian learned of this and snuck into Leoch on the night of the oath taking and stole her away. The McKenzie was furious and sent men to find them. They were hand fast and hid away from their pursuers until Ellen was with child then came back to Lallybroch. By then there was nae anything the McKenzie could do but he disowned his daughter and there has been bad feeling between the McKenzies and Frasers from that day to this.”

“Well that would explain the visciousness at the shinty game then.” I said more to myself than to anyone else.

“Aye, ‘tis not all the McKenzies that still hold this grudge but my Uncle Dougal will nae forget.”

“But it was so long ago.”

“Aye but history has a way of repeating itself. My parents, another Brian Fraser and Ellen McKenzie coincidentally, fell in love and married much to her brother, Dougal’s disgust.”

“So Jenny” Uncle Lamb asked. “Has Lallybroch been in the Fraser family this whole time? I thought perhaps with Culloden and the clearances...”

“Aye yer correct in yer thoughts but a canny ancestor, James Fraser, signed a deed of sasine, turning over ownership of the estate to his young nephew, James Murray. It was backdated tae before James Fraser was declared a traitor for joining the uprising. It stayed in the Murray family for generations but abandoned during the thirties due tae the depression and left derelict. My parents bought it back when they were wed and lovingly restored it.”

I was intrigued by the story and impressed by the dedication of the family and the detail of the restoration. 

“I’m curious. All these beautiful pieces you have must have taken a long time to find and cost a fortune. They all look so authentic.” My life growing up with my uncle on digs and in museums had taught me a lot about historical objects and I could usually spot a reproduction.  
“Aye, they’re all the real thing.” She said with a wary look at me as if she were hiding something. “We were lucky that a few things, like the tapestries and much of the furniture were preserved in the attic. My brother, Jamie, has a good eye and has acquired the rest. Professor, would ye like tae take a look around? I’ll give you a wee bit of a tour. Ye’ll be wanting to get back tae yer surgery, will ye not Claire.” At that she took my uncle’s arm and left the parlour in more than a hurry.

I was astonished at the apparent brush off. I had feeling that I’d somehow come close to touching a raw nerve. As I stood up to go back to my work, I noticed a sword above the fireplace. If I was right it was Viking, probably 5th century going by the shape of the pommel and more than museum quality with the pommel wrapping still intact. This alone would have cost tens of thousands. 

Things didn’t add up. Farming is not the most profitable profession, certainly not an estate of this size. Jenny had told me that her brother was a printer so that wouldn’t bring in the kind of money that would be needed to find and purchase the treasures adorning the walls and shelves. I was also curious about what Jenny meant by how her brother ‘acquired’ things.

A knock at the door interrupted my train of thought. Mrs Crook beckoned me.

“Excuse me, Mistress, but one of the wee bairns has taken a tumble. Could ye please take a look at him?”

“Duty calls.” I said to myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the lovely people who have left comments and encouragement.
> 
> I’m loving getting back into writing after quite a few years and glad you’re enjoying my story.


	10. The Calling of the Clans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire witnesses the Calling of the Clans

“There you go, young man. Now be more careful next time.” I said to the five year old handing him a piece of molasses toffee I kept for just such an occasion.

“Now what do you say to the doctor.” His mother admonished.

“Fank ye vewy much.”

I ruffled his tousled mop of red hair. 

“You’re very welcome.” I answered.

I watched them leave the surgery wondering if a certain shinty captain had looked like that as a boy. 

“What in the hell put that in your head, Beauchamp?” I asked myself puzzled by my own thoughts. He had crossed my mind a few times since I’d set his finger earlier that afternoon. That moment when I first touched his hand. What was that energy that seemed to pass through me into him? Was this what Master Raymond had been talking to me about? There was something else though when his blue eyes met mine. A connection. 

Familiar voices filtered through the door as Uncle Lamb and Jenny entered.

“...and that’s how the Dunbonnet evaded the red coats for sae long.”

I could see the excitement in Uncle Lamb’s eyes. He was in his element. 

“Well, thank you very much for showing me around, my dear and for sharing your family stories. Much more informative than some of the dusty old tomes I’ve read in my time.”

“Yer verra welcome.”

I exchanged looks with Jenny, silently thanking her for indulging him. The wary look had disappeared from her eyes as she smiled. It was then that I knew where I’d seen those eyes before. How were they related? Before I could ask the question, Jenny spoke.

“‘Tis getting late. Would ye like tae freshen up before ye come oot for the Calling, Claire? I’ve a couple of extra costumes ye can have tae wear while yer here this week.” then turning to Uncle Lamb, she asked “Will ye be coming back yerself, Professor? I’m sure I could find ye sommat tae wear.”

“Alas dear lady, I must go back to the clinic. Much as I’m feeling better than I have in a long while, it wouldn’t do to delay further treatment. I’m very much looking forward to this evening though.”

“Weel ye’ll be joining Clan Fraser at the feast as our special guests and as a thank ye tae Claire for stepping in as our healer at such short notice.”

“We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Claire.” replied my uncle 

“Yes of course. Thank you, Jenny.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Washed and dressed in a clean costume, I joined Uncle Lamb and Geillis. It was just on twilight as she led us in the direction of the tower.

“‘Tis called Broch Turach which means North facing tower.” Geillis explained. 

“But it’s round, it doesn’t have a face.” I said in confusion.

Geillis laughed. “The door faces north.”  
The tower was lit up by spot lights at the bottom and we followed a path lit but flaming torches. It led to a field in which stood a huge bonfire ready to be lit. The field formed a natural amphitheatre and on the area which would have been the stage, tables and benches had been set up in a semicircle obviously for the feast. 

Geillis sat us down at one of the tables. People milled around greeting friends and I recognised quite a few patients and staff from the clinic among them. 

Just on dark, a hush descended on the crowd as they took their seats and the skirl of bagpipes filled the air. From the crest of the hill a ring of torches appeared and groups of people followed each of the torches towards the bonfire, each person decked out in a distinct tartan. The clans were coming. 

Each torch bearer took their place around the bonfire with their clan gathered behind them. The pipes were silenced and a palpable excitement was in the air.

“The Frasers of Broch Turach are here and welcome ye all.” I heard a familiar voice call out into the darkness. With that, the man I knew as Mac Dubh thrust his torch into the bonfire. As the flames took, it revealed the silhouette of a highlander in full regalia. The light of the bonfire reflected in the broadsword slung at his waist. My heart thumped at the sight.

Cheers and the Fraser war cry filled the air. Another torch bearer stepped up and added his torch to the blaze. I recognised him as the other shinty captain, Dougal McKenzie. 

“The McKenzies of Leoch are here and thank ye for your hospitality.”

Again a cheer rose up with the McKenzie war cry.

One by one, the clans announced their presence, the bonfire getting brighter and bigger.

The Mcdonalds of Keppoch, the Grahams of Montrose, the Galloways of Dumfries, the Grants, Malcolm’s, MacEwans, Leslies, Fletchers, McTavishes, MacDuffs, Hamiltons, Duncans and finally Clan Wemyss. All accompanied by cheers and war cries. Fifteen clans assembled to celebrate the heritage they all shared. 

The sound of the pipes again swelled as each clan moved to their allotted tables. We were joined by Jenny and the rest of the Frasers, some of who I’d met at the game. When the tune finished Mac Dubh called for quiet. A solemnity rose over the congregation. Heads were bowed ready for the grace preceding the feast.

With my eyes cast down, I heard his voice.

“Some have meat and canna eat  
And some wad eat that want it  
But we have meat and we can eat  
And sae the Lord be thankit.”

I made to raise my head being familiar with Robbie Burns’ verse but Mac Dubh continued, albeit irreverently.

“But some hate meat and girn and weep,  
Resisting all coercion  
So bless the tatties, bless the neeps  
And the vegetarian version.

Then filled wi’ fruits o’ field and vine  
And feelin fairlie frisky.  
The one who water turned to wine  
We’d ask to bless the whiskey.”

Laughter and applause rang from around the tables and an army of servers began to fill the tables with platters. The amount of food was staggering. Roasted meat of all kinds, the aforementioned ‘tatties and neeps’ amongst a mound of other vegetables and fresh baked bread and bannocks were placed before us. 

“It really is an amazing spread, Jenny. However did you manage it all?”

“Thank ye Claire. Each family contributes with food and we share the work needed for the preparation. ‘Tis a team effort, ‘twas just our turn tae host it this year.”

Plates were passed around and folks started to help themselves to the banquet laid before them. Glasses were filled with wine, ale and the inevitable whiskey. 

“I hope ye’ve left some for me.” I heard over my shoulder.

I’d felt his presence before he spoke. 

“May I?” He asked, indicating the empty space on the bench next to me. I nodded as he lowered himself to the bench. Space was at a premium at the table so necessitated a closeness that would otherwise not happen between strangers. His thigh grazed mine and once again that feeling rippled through me. He blushed right up to the tips of his ears. He had felt it too. He shook himself slightly.

“Ye’ve prepared a bonny feast, Janet. Ye’ve done yerself and the clan proud.”

“Och, ‘tis naught but what we always have fuir the gathering.” she replied modestly.

“Still I want to thank ye.” he said gratefully.

“So have ye met Claire. Claire this is my...”

“Kinsman” he interrupted. Jenny looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. 

“I met Mr Mac Dubh this afternoon.” I replied.

“Ye make me sound like a bespectacled cartoon character.” He said with a laugh. Those around the table joined in. “Oh, Mac Dubh, ye’ve done it again.”

“Dinna mind him, Claire. He takes the gathering verra serious. Especially sticking to the SCA names. Totally refuses to answer to anything else the whole week.”

The conversation returned to the food as we all tucked in.

“All we need now is the haggis.” I said to Uncle Lamb jokingly.

“No tonight, Sassanach.” came the voice from beside me. “The haggis only comes oot at Burns supper, January 25th. Ye dinna think we eat it any ole time.” 

He smiled at me as he forgave my faux pas. A smile that reached his eyes and caused them to crinkle slightly at the edges.

“Dinna fash yerself, Claire. ‘Tis a common mistake.” Seeing that my glass was empty, he indicated a bottle of wine before us. “Would ye like a glass of the Rhenish, Claire. My cousin, Jared, has a wine business in Paris and always sends us a few cases for the gathering.”

I thanked him and he poured a good measure into my glass. 

The wine and whiskey flowed as the conversation turned to Fraser family history.

Mac Dubh and a man who had been introduced as his godfather, Murtagh Fitzgibbon, waxed lyrical about the exploits of their predecessors. Uncle Lamb was as happy as a pig in muck but as the hours passed I could see he was tiring.

“We really should be getting back to the clinic as my uncle needs his rest.” I said to Mac Dubh and Jenny “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

As I stood up to leave, my foot tangled in my long skirt and as I stumbled, a pair of strong arms caught me as I landed against his chest. His eyes held mine as he grinned.

“A little too much of the Rhenish, is it, lass? I should have warned ye. ‘Tis pretty potent.”

“No, I’m fine.” I replied, embarrassed, “It’s just these damned long skirts. I’m not used to wearing them yet.”

“Weel, I’ll walk ye all back to the car then. The way can be tricky in the dark.”

Geillis and Uncle Lamb said their goodbyes and thanked Jenny once again. Mac Dubh retrieved a torch from beside the fire and holding it aloft, guided us along the path to the car park. I helped Uncle Lamb into the front seat and turned to get into the back. Mac Dubh, gallantly, had the door open for me and took my hand to help me in. 

“I’ll be seeing ye tomorrow then, Sassanach.” he said holding my hand for just a moment longer than would be usual between aquaintances. He closed the door and Geillis drove down the driveway. I glanced back over my shoulder to see him still standing there, hand raised in farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first verse of the grace that Mac Dubh recites is attributed to famous Scottish poet, Robert Burns. I found the second two verses on the web and were written by Richard Medrington.
> 
> I’m probably showing my age by including the Mr Magoo reference. It just popped into my head as soon as I wrote the words ‘Mr Mac Dubh’. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Magoo


	11. He survived.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to sleep, Claire opens Davey Beaton’s book only to find a horrifying tale.

It was late and with Uncle Lamb finally settled in bed, I made my way to my room, laden with the spare costumes that Jenny had provided and Dr Beaton’s logbook. I was glad to be getting out of the layers of clothing even though they were surprisingly comfortable to wear. Shower and bed were all I needed now.

I snuggled under the sheets ready for Hypnos to claim me. I closed my eyes but saw imprinted on my eyelids the face of the Viking. My eyes snapped open. Why was he here in my head? 

I tried thinking of all the other things that had happened during my first day of the gathering but kept coming back to Mac Dubh. The sexy way his kilt swung on his way down the hill, the way the sun shone on that glorious red hair, the husky voice clouded in pain when I set his finger. The way his eyes met mine, the feel of his hand, his thigh against my thigh and the hand raised in farewell. 

I struggled to understand the connection between us each time we touched. My breathing grew rapid and a warm glow possessed my body. Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, Claire! Get a grip on yourself. You only met him a few hours ago.

Davey Beaton’s book lay on the desk. Perhaps if I read some of it, I could get him out of my mind and get some sleep. 

Opening it at the first page, I immersed myself in the cases he described. It was evident that it described not his everyday patients but only those of a more unusual nature. The first entry was dated twelve years previously with the birth of a child with a deformed arm. The labour had been long and difficult with the child in a breech position. Manually palpating the belly had not been successful and the mother had sustained quite serious tearing on delivery. The baby, despite the missing arm from the elbow down, was healthy. The mother had refused to go to hospital despite Dr Beaton’s advice.

The next case was a ten year old boy who had eaten a poisonous plant and became delirious. Dr Beaton had successfully treated him with a tincture of digitalis.

Case after case highlighted the trust the highlanders had in his abilities and their reluctance to go to a hospital. Highlanders were by nature a stubborn and superstitious people, used to being self reliant and suspicious of strangers. The isolation many of them endured and embraced, made it a long and sometimes difficult journey for an ambulance to come to help.

I was becoming fascinated by this modern day physician who embraced alternative medicine alongside 21st century science. 

One other thing I had noticed was his protection of his patients privacy. No names were mentioned only initials. This of course was now law but I suspected that it had been a practice of his for many years. 

As I skimmed through the pages, one particular case caught my eye. It was dated seven years ago.

“20 year old local male known to self, JAMMF, found unconscious by RC at Craig na Dun . Symptoms: Deep lacerations to 80% of back in a crisscrossed pattern. Considerable blood loss. Wrists showed signs bruising and grazing. Appearance of injuries would suggest flogging????

Had regained consciousness by the time the writer arrived. Refused to be taken to hospital or complete a formal report. Agreed to be transported to clinic of the aforementioned Frenchman for treatment in partnership with local GP (self). 

Treatment: Site irrigated with infusion of turmeric and garlic. Poultice of Equisetum arvense and Calendula officinalis, applied to wounds and changed four hourly. Patient in a state of delirium for first 48 hours lapsing into unconsciousness intermittently. Pt consent given when lucid for IV fluids. Acupuncture administered for pain relief. Willow bark tea given orally after 48 hours once pt fully conscious.”

A chill ran through me at the description of the man’s injuries and the fact that the doctor had considered flogging as a possible cause. It’s 21st century Scotland not some middle eastern backwater where beatings are still common. How could anyone survive this and why did he refuse to go to hospital? Shock alone could have killed him.

I could only assume that the Frenchman referred to Master Raymond. Had he used the powers he purported to have to aid in the healing of this horrific injury?

Reading through the rest of the notes, I found that he had survived and was discharged from the clinic only 2 months later. 

Closing the book, I lay wondering about the young mystery man. I imagined the psychological effects that an experience like that would leave, let alone the physical appearance of a back laid open with such ferocity that would leave scars that would last a lifetime. 

Exhausted physically and mentally, I finally fell asleep only to dream of the young highlander and his agony. I could picture the shredded skin and bruised muscles of his body. The wrists embedded with rope fibres, bruised and weeping. 

In my dream, he had red hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter this time but it just seems the right way to finish it.
> 
> I have taken great license in suggesting that a doctor would keep records in an insecure way such as the logbook. Please indulge me for the sake of the story. 
> 
> I’m also not medically trained so if I have got things terribly wrong please forgive my ignorance.


	12. Let the games begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the Highland games arrives

I woke to an insistent knocking on my door. My head thumping in time with the rapping.

“Claire, dearie, are ye awake, lass. Tis time ye were op.”

Through gritty eyes, I saw the door swing open revealing the whirlwind that was Mrs. Fitz.

“I’ve come tae git ye dressed.”

She entered carrying a tray that held a large cup of tea, a plate of buttered toast and a pot of marmalade.

“Brought ye a wee bit of breakfast. Ye look a little peaky, dear. Did ye no’ sleep well or was it Jared’s Rhenish.” She said with a sly grin.

She laid the tray on the bedside table moving the Doctors book to the side.

Assuring her that I was fine, we got down to the business of getting into my costume. Mrs Fitz tugged at my pjs, shift at the ready. Embarrassed at the thought of her seeing me naked, I covered myself with my arms.

“Dinna fash, lass. It’s nae anything I’ve no’ seen before.” She placed the shift over my head. “Ye’ve verra fine skin, Claire, narry a mark on ye. There’s no many women yer age here in the highlands tha havna been scarred by illness or injury.”

Surrendering to Mrs Fitz’s ministrations, I looked out the window at the grey clouds that reflected the way I felt inside. A fine drizzle fell. I had to put what I’d read and dreamt out of my mind if I was going to be any use to anyone today.

“...and for what ye did fer young Tammas yesterday, I thank ye. He’s my nephew, ye ken, my sister’s boy.”

“You’re welcome” I answered shaking myself back into the present realising that I was now clad in the many layers that made up my outfit.

“Och ye look grand.” She said handing me an arisaid. “Ye’ll be needing this today.”

“Thank you for your help, Mrs Fitz, and for the breakfast.” 

“Geillis will be waiting fer ye so ye’d best be off to yer physikin’” she picked up the tray and whisked through the door as quickly as she’d arrived.

I quickly tamed my wayward curls into a bun. Grabbing the logbook I hurried downstairs to where Geillis was waiting. As we walked out to the car I was glad of the warm tartan shawl to protect me from the cold. Once nestled in my seat, I asked Geillis about today’s order of events.

“‘Tis the Highland games taeday, ye know, tossing the caber and the like. This evening is the ceilidh.”

“I’m not familiar with that word. What is it?”

“‘Tis an evening of music and dancing, a way for folk tae let doon their hair and forget their troubles. Our wee Welshman will be playing and singing and just wait until ye hear my kinsman. We call him the Thrush.”

The first aid tent had been set up again for me to work from. Glad to be out of the confines of the surgery, in the fresh air, I felt my headache start to leave me. Men were hustling, getting the field ready for the games. 

“Good morning tae ye mistress.” I heard a cheery voice call out. 

I turned to see Rupert and Angus setting down a heavy box. They started to unpack large heavy spheres that I recognised as being for the hammer throw event. I wandered over to inspect them more closely.

“Wow, those balls are a rather impressive “ I said thinking of the strength that would be required to toss them any distance. “I didn’t expect them to be so big.”

“Tha’s what all the lassies tell me.” Said Angus waggling his hips suggestively. Rupert cuffed him over the head as I laughed refusing to let Angus embarrass me.

“I apologise for my wee friend here, Mistress. He has nae manners around fine ladies as yerself.”

“It’s fine, Rupert, truly.” I replied. 

Leaving them to their task, I looked across the field. There he was carrying a huge log obviously for the caber toss.

“Damn that man.” I said to myself as I strode quickly across the grass. “Put that down right now” I yelled at him. “Didn’t I tell you to take care of that hand?”

“Weel, guid morning tae ye too, Sassanach.” he murmured. He lowered the wood to the ground and extended his hand for my inspection. “It’s fine, lass, truly. Doesna pain me a bit.”

I took the proffered limb in my hand to evaluate his injury, goosebumps rising on my skin. I heard him gasp. I looked into his face expecting to see an expression of pain but found none. At that precise moment, the clouds parted and the sun shone through. It lit his hair like a halo. What I’d previously thought of as red hair, came alive to reveal shades of auburn, amber, roan, cinnabar, rufous, copper, cinnamon, red and gold. It reminded me of a deer’s pelt.

He smiled with a grin that lit up his eyes. They reflected the blue of the sky where it had peeked through the clouds. My own eyes turned back to his hand. He had removed the tape I’d applied to stabilise his finger. To my amazement there was no sign of bruising at all. I had him bend and flex his fingers to gauge this range of movement and found them perfectly functional. It had been less than 24 hours since his injury. I couldn’t explain it. 

With one finger under my chin, he raised my gaze to his. 

“See, Sassanach. Perfectly fine. Ye have a magic touch. Yer a rare woman, Claire, a fine healer.” His husky baritone was smooth as honey. “ I was wondering if ye’d accompany me to the ceilidh this evening as a wee thank ye.”

I nodded a little shyly, a lump in my throat preventing me from speaking. He bowed formally, making a leg as if he was an 18th century nobleman. He reached towards me and tucked a wayward curl behind my ear.

“Until tonight then, mo nighean donn.” He turned on his heel and returned to his task. 

I went back to the tent, my emotions in turmoil. I needed a distraction. I needed to talk to someone who understood what was happening. How could he possibly have healed so quickly?

Sitting there as if in answer to my unspoken prayer sat Master Raymond. He looked at me knowingly.

“It has happened has it not, Madonna?”

I told him about Mac Dubh’s injury, treatment and puzzlingly rapid recovery and the energy that seemed to pass between us at every meeting.

Eyebrows raised, he looked surprised. 

“This is indeed interesting and unusual even in my experience. There must be a unique bond between you. Sometimes this happens when two souls meet again after a long time apart.”

“But we only met yesterday. I don’t even know his real name. “

“Perhaps in this life but in another lifetime perhaps? You dreamt of him last night, n’est-ce pas? I thought so.” He surmised noting my expression. “You appeared to him in his slumbers too I’m sure.”

Another lifetime? Really? I thought. I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to believe in reincarnation. I mused about the number of cultures I had encountered on my travels with Uncle Lamb who believed in just that. Were they right?

In my meetings with Master Raymond during the previous week, he had taught me how to meditate on a persons energy and to his astonishment I managed to produce a weak blue glow. With Mac Dubh there was no such glow. 

“He has blue eyes does he not? And you had eye contact? Perhaps that is enough between you for the healing to happen.” Seeing that I was getting stressed, he put one hand on my head and the other over my heart. I felt an immediate calm descend on me. “You need to relax, ma Cherie. Go watch the games and have some fun. I will stay here and will call you if your expertise is required.”

I hugged him and headed out into the growing throng of spectators, the sense of calm remaining with me.

The day was filled with events showcasing the strength of the Scottish men. They tossed cabers and weights for ever growing distances, Mac Dubh winning the caber toss and Rupert the hammer throw. 

Piping competitions provided the soundscape for the day and music for the dancers. The highland fling was a favourite with the crowd as was the sword dance. Murtagh was devastated by a low score for his efforts, only to be consoled by his godson and a flask of whiskey.

The women were kept busy with games and activities of their own. The rolling pin toss, in which Mrs Fitz almost took the head off a man with a wayward throw, which he avoided with a well timed duck. One less casualty for Master Raymond to deal with.

I was fascinated by many of the craft demonstrations of spinning, weaving and wool waulking accompanied by traditional waulking songs. 

As I made my way around the grounds, I noticed Mac Dubh at many of the events that I was watching, often only only a few paces away. It was as if we were planets who’s orbits constantly collided. I’d look up to find him gazing at me then look away with a smile lurking on the corner of his lips.

The activities wound down as families met for dinner in anticipation of the evenings music. 

I was sitting at one of the picnic tables with Geillis, Master Raymond and a few of the others from the clinic when I felt hands cover my eyes from behind. 

“Guess who?” I heard a soft male voice ask. There was something familiar about it. I spun around to see a pair of green eyes and a bushy beard. Behind him stood Reverend Wakefield and Mrs Graham smiling broadly.

“Roger?” His face broke into a huge grin and his arms almost crushed me with a hug. “It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“How’s my favourite poodle?” He said ducking as I swiped at him. 

I greeted the Reverend and Mrs Graham with hugs and Master Raymond asked them to join us.  
Roger sat next to me his arm companionably around my shoulder. We talked and laughed about old times. It was the first time I had laughed so hard in a very long time.

Roger and I had spent many summer holidays together as we’d grown up. Both of us had lost our parents at a young age. His father had been an airforce pilot who died in mysterious circumstances when his plane went down over the channel. His mother was a victim of the London Underground bombing, leaving him an orphan at just eleven years old. The Reverend, his mother’s brother assumed the role of guardian. Roger spent every holiday from boarding school at the manse and most years Uncle Lamb and I joined them for the summer and the occasional Christmas.

With only a year between us, we became best friends and spent the summers camping out, swimming in the lochs and when the weather turned sour, we would sequester ourselves in the Reverend’s study reading and laughing.

It’d been four years since we’d seen each other, both of us at university, Roger studying history and me at medical school. 

“So, what ARE you doing here?” I asked him again.

“Weel, I couldna miss the gathering. Plus Geillis invited me to sing at the Ceilidh tonight.” He replied. I’d forgotten how his accent became broader whenever he came home for a visit.

Geillis grinned across the table, her green eyes sparkling, eyes just like Roger’s. “I told ye The Thrush was my kinsman.”

Now it all fitted together. Geillis’ skirt was a McKenzie tartan. Roger’s surname was McKenzie although he had adopted the Reverend’s name until he went to University. 

“But I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Nor did I until a few years ago. I was studying the history of Gaelic music, collecting songs and would hum along to them when my roommate heard me and got me singing at the local pub. They started paying me and it helped pay for my tuition. Now I sing at gatherings, weddings and wakes.” he explained. 

“He’s verra popular wi’ the lasses too.” Geillis teased.

“Well that’s wonderful. Congratulations.” I hugged him again and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. As I pulled away, I felt a presence behind us.

I looked over my shoulder to see Mac Dubh, a fierce look on his face, his eyes narrowed. Had he seen me hugging Roger. Was he jealous? I introduced him to the party around the table. It was evident that he was acquainted with those from the clinic and told him about the friendship I shared with Roger, Mrs Graham and the Reverend. He greeted each one and Roger asked him to join us. His expression relaxed.

“Actually I just came to collect Claire. The music is about to start and I wanted to get a good seat.”

I stood as I excused myself with a promise to catch up with them again after the performance. We wandered towards the elevated field where the Calling had been held the previous evening. Mac Dubh carried a basket in one hand and placed the other on the small of my back as he led me to the vantage point he’d selected. From the basket he withdrew a blanket and spread it on the grass. 

“Will ye sit with me Claire?” He said offering his hand.

As we settled ourselves side by side, the torches were lit and a hush descended.  
The Ceilidh had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who has commented and left kudos. It is the fuel that keeps me going. 
> 
> I hope people don’t mind that I’ve made Roger and Claire contemporaries. Just fits in better with my story.


	13. The Ceilidh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire runs into some old friends and gets closer to Mac Dubh.

“Will ye sit with me Claire?” He said offering his hand.

I reached out my hand to take his and the familiar spark like static electricity passed between us just before our fingers met. Will it always be like this I wondered?

He helped me down to the blanket as I tried to arrange my long skirts. Frustrated as they wrapped themselves around my legs, I fell the last couple of feet crashing head first into him. My forehead whacked into his mouth.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! God, are you ok?” My hand rubbed my head and as I looked up to see his hand held to his mouth. 

“Aye, tis no but a fat lip. Ye have a very hard head, Sassanach.”

I fidgeted, finally getting my skirts straight then took his chin in my hand and turned it to ascertain the damage.

“It doesn’t look too bad but we really should put something cold on it to reduce the swelling. At least you’re not bleeding.”

“Truly, ‘tis fine.”

Nevertheless I looked in the basket and found a cold bottle of water.

“Here, hold this on it, it’ll help.” He looked at me , one eyebrow cocked. “Trust me I’m a doctor.”

“Could ye no just kiss it better?”

I blushed and was saved from answering by an announcement from the stage. Rupert stood there calling for attention.

“My lords and ladies, lads and lasses, I bid ye welcome to the Ceilidh. Tonight’s program includes all the way from Cardiff, Gwyllyn the bard and returning to the bosom of his clan, I give ye, the Thrush.”

Laughter sprang from the crowd and Rupert realising the unintended innuendo, blushed.

“Och, ye ken what I mean. Now sit back, pour a dram and enjoy the show.”

Roger took centre stage. He looked wonderful in his kilt, no longer the gangly teenager I’d known. He started a lively rhythm on the bodhrin, launching into a jaunty tune, The Drunken Scotsman. Hands clapped and feet tapped in time, as he told the hilarious tale through his song, the crowd singing along as the last two lines of each verse were repeated.

Mac Dubh clapped and tapped along with the rest of the crowd but when it came to joining in the singing, he just bellowed out the words tunelessly. Seeing the look I gave him, he laughed.

“Aye, I’m tone deaf ye ken, I hear the rhythm and the words but can nae hear the tune. I still enjoy it though.” I laughed alongside him. 

Roger sang a dozen more, a mixture of lively songs and slow sweet love songs then promising that he would return later in the evening, introduced Gwyllyn. 

Gwyllyn was the music therapist that I’d met at the clinic but I hadn’t heard him play as yet.

As we waited for him to tune his harp, I shivered as the cool breeze blew through the field.

I’d left my arisaid behind on the picnic bench while we had dinner.

“Are ye cold, lass? Would ye perhaps like tae share my plaid? Tis big enough for us both.”  
I nodded and he unpinned it from his shoulder and wrapped it around mine. Barely six inches separated us and I could feel the warmth radiating off his body. We became conscious of our closeness, both of us feeling a little awkward. 

“Perhaps a dram to warm ye?” he suggested reaching into the picnic basket. He took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, along with some cheese and bannocks. He poured a generous measure into each glass and handed me one. 

“I’m assuming ye drink whiskey or should I go find ye something else. Wine perhaps?”

“No whiskey’s fine. Thank you, Mac Dubh.”

“Just call me Mac. Tis easier, no?”

“Then, thank you, Mac.” I said with a smile. 

He answered with a one of his own.

 

Gwyllyn was renowned for his ballads. His fingers caressed the strings of the Celtic harp as he sang.

“A-tapir a rinn mi ‘m bruadal,  
Dh’fhag mo chadal luaineach,  
Mur dean mi do bhuannachd,  
S Truagh nach robh mi ‘s an talamh.

I felt Mac’s gaze on me as he listened to the words. 

Mesmerised, I asked Mac what it meant. He spoke quietly in my ear as he translated.

“Last night I had a dream,  
Which left my sleep disturbed,  
If I cannot win you,  
I would rather be in the ground.

Horo my pretty brown haired girl,  
With the enticing blue eyes  
If only we could be together  
Though we had nothing 

Oh my pretty brown haired girl  
with the enticing blue eyes

Your slender, shy face  
Well suited for the mirror  
The love that I’ve given you  
Has left me confused and lost 

Your good name and virtue  
Complement each other  
Sweeter than the sound of strings  
Is the music you make under your breath 

Amber on the maidens breast becomes her  
Likewise silk stockings and shoes  
With gold buckles to secure them 

But now you have left me  
I must learn to live without you  
This is my farewell to you  
For I still wish you well.”

 

His voice was as smooth as the whiskey in our glasses but it broke as he spoke the last verse. I thought about the lyrics. “Last night I had a dream, Which left my sleep disturbed.” Had he dreamt as I had? Had he dreamt as Master Raymond had said he had? Had he dreamt of me, a brown haired girl? What was it he had called me? Mo nighean donn. My brown haired lass.

My brown eyes met those of the darkest blue. We drew closer, inhaling each other’s breath. 

“I’d like verra much to kiss ye, Claire. May I?

“Yes.” I whispered 

He took my face in his strong yet gentle hands. Our lips met softly at first, our eyes still locked. As our ardor grew, our lips pressed together more firmly. His eyes closed as he winced in pain.

“Oh, Mac. I’m so sorry.” I apologised, remembering our earlier accident. My hand caressed his swollen lips.

“Och, dinna fash, Sassanach.” His eyes crinkled with mirth even as he moaned in discomfort. Despite myself, I joined in his laughter.

“Maybe I should have kissed it better in the first place.”

“With your healing powers, ‘twould probably be healed by now.”

He had hit a raw nerve. I pulled back and looked away, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. 

Perplexed, he took my hand. “Did I say something wrong, a leannan?” He asked, his expression full of concern.

“No it’s fine, really. It’s just something I’d just rather not talk about right now.”

He reached over and pulled me closer. I leaned against him, my back to his chest. His strong arms folded around me, comforting and gentle.

Gwyllyn finished an instrumental piece played on a wooden flute and once again took up his harp. 

The haunting tune resonated with my confused mind. Through my distraction, Mac’s smoky voice reached me.

“I am a woman of Balnain.  
The folk have stolen me over again,  
The stones seemed to say  
I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise,  
and the sound of thunder  
Rolled across the land.

I placed my hands upon the tallest stone  
And traveled to a far distant land.  
Where I lived for a time among strangers  
who became lovers and friends.  
But one day, I saw the moon come out  
And the wind rose once more  
So I touched the stones  
And traveled back to my own land  
And took up again with the man I had left behind”

 

“That’s beautiful. I don’t understand it all but sometimes that’s how I feel. I traveled all around the world with my uncle as I was growing up. Many of the friends I made started as strangers and each time I had to leave them behind. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“We each have our own journeys to make, Sassenach, and they dinna always lead where we expect.”

We sat quietly dwelling in our own thoughts. My eyes drooped and whether it was the soothing music, the broken sleep of the previous night or the warm cocoon of Mac’s arms and plaid, I drifted off to sleep. 

I was on a hillside, running from something I couldn’t see. Whatever or whoever was chasing me was catching up fast . Heather and bracken tore at my skirts slowing me down. I knew I had to get away. On the crest of the hill was a ring of standing stones. I was uncontrollably drawn towards them and a noise like the buzzing of a thousand angry bees was deafening. I ran towards them and reached out my hand. Hands grabbed at me from behind. I was terrified but a voice called me. Called to me through the stones, his voice in a language I couldn’t understand.

“Mo graidh, m’annsachd, hush now, yer safe.”

I slowly made my way back to consciousness to reassuring words in Gaelic. His warm hand gently stroked my cheek as he held me tightly.

“Sassenach? Claire, wake up mo chridhe. ‘Tis just a dream.”

I opened my eyes to see his face filled with worry. 

“Claire, are ye back wi’ me, lass?”

I nodded, the feeling of terror slowly subsiding. I was shaking uncontrollably as if in shock. I lifted my hand and touched his. 

“Christ, Claire your hands are like ice.”

I knew if I wanted to make any sense of this there was one person I needed to see.

“Take me to Master Raymond.” I gasped 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was looking for one of Gwyllyn’s songs to include in this chapter. I was lead to the website of Gillebride McMillan the fabulous musician who played the role in the TV series. While scrolling through his songs I came across one called ‘Mo Nighean Donn’. 
> 
> I googled the lyrics to include it in the chapter . They were ok but not what you’d call inspiring.
> 
> I got called away and when I got back I accidentally clicked on the wrong link and found another song with a similar title. The lyrics are perfect don’t you think?
> 
> Serendipity?
> 
> Here’s the link : http://www.celticlyricscorner.net/lamond/horomo.htm


	14. An awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac swooped me up in his strong arms and carried me towards the house. 
> 
> “Ah Dhia, let her be safe, give her peace.” I heard him pray under his breath.

“Take me to Master Raymond.” I gasped.

Mac swooped me up in his strong arms and carried me towards the house. 

“Ah Dhia, let her be safe, give her peace.” I heard him pray under his breath. 

My head throbbed and my heart raced. I struggled to breathe like I was drowning. My eyes wouldn’t open.

I felt his heartbeat as he held me tight against his chest. His breath was ragged as he raced towards the house. 

“Geillis” I heard him yell. “Get Raymond and Jenny as fast as ye can. Tis Claire.”

I could hear the panic in his voice.

He flew through the front door and up the stairs. Laying me gently on a soft bed, he took my hands in his and rubbed them to try to warm them. A shudder surged through my body and through my eyelids I saw blue wings, wings that beckoned me upwards.

From above I saw Mac take me in his arms and hold me tight against him. Tears fell down his face.

“Dhia, no. Mo chridhe, stay with me. Tha goal agam ort.” He said in desperation. I tried to reach out to him but my body refused to obey.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs and the door crashed open. Master Raymond stood in the doorway with Jenny and Geillis behind him. He took a deep breath as if to centre himself then went to the bed. He placed a hand on Mac’s shoulder. 

“You must leave me now to do my work, mon amie.” He turned to Geillis. “Bring the Professor.”

“Ye must save her. I canna lose her again.” Mac pleaded desperately. Jenny came and took him by the arm. 

“Tighinn Brathair.” She said as she lead him from the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Master Raymond laid one hand over my heart the other over my head.

“Corpus reverti. Venit hiacyntho lux.” He chanted over and over as rays of blue emitted from his palms.

Air filled my lungs. My eyes snapped open and his black eyes pierced mine commanding me to hold his gaze as I returned to myself. Cell by cell, my body started to warm up as his hands hovered over it. 

My heartbeat slowed and the throbbing in my brain ceased. 

I was exhausted, drained of all energy.

“Now you must sleep, Madonna. We shall speak in the morning.”

My limbs sunk further into the softness of the bed as I surrendered to the oblivion of sleep. As I reached the edge of consciousness, I once again heard him call me “Sorcha, Claire, come to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter to keep the mystery building
> 
> ‘Corpus reverti. Venit hiacyntho lux.’ Translates to “return to your body. Into the blue light ‘


	15. The Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay in posting this chapter but I kind of painted myself into a corner with the last chapter and had to wait for the paint to dry. Damn writers block. That’ll teach me to not have a synopsis for the story but I like to write organically and let it tell itself.
> 
> Just a note about the prophecy (thanks to reader, Rlr for reminding me about the real one). For the purists among us, you will notice that this is not the Braman prophecy as written by DG but one I made up to fit in with my story. To be honest I forgot about the original one. Please indulge me.

Jenny handed Mac a tumbler of whiskey to try and calm him. He still trembled with emotion, pale and sweaty. Their heads turned to look up to the landing as they heard the door open.

Master Raymond descended the staircase and reached for Mac’s shoulder reassuringly. He looked up into the beetle black eyes, looking for the answer to his unspoken question.

“It has begun!” The hand radiating strength. 

“May I see her?” Mac asked pleadingly.

“For now she is asleep. She is not to be disturbed until she wakes on her own. You must keep your distance for a while. I understand that this will be difficult but it is essential for her own safety.”

The ache to be with her gnaws him to the bone. He must have her, touch her, love her, protect her like a cloak and shield her with his body. He longs to run his fingers through her riotous curls, that hair, the colour of a burn, the way it ruffles over the rocks, dark in the wavy parts with shades of auburn when the sun hits it. To once again gaze into those whiskey coloured eyes. But to keep her safe, he must be apart from her until the proper time. 

“So she’s becoming stronger.” Jenny said “and she still doesn’t know.”

“Oui Madam Fraser. It is sooner than I expected. It is still a few days until her anniversaire. I have already discussed this with Monsieur Professor but now things have changed we will have to be more cautious.”

They heard the crunch of tyres on gravel as a car pulled into the door yard. Jenny opened the front door to let in Lamb and Geillis. Lamb’s face was ashen as Geillis helped him to the sofa.

“Is she ok?” he asked nervously. Geillis had told him what she knew about what had occurred on the journey to Lallybroch.

Master Raymond reassured him.

“She is sleeping but she has been through an ordeal. We must make preparations before she wakes.”

“Is it the Fraser prophecy then?” Geillis asked. “Is she La Dame Blanche, the Ban-druidh.”

“Oui, it appears so.”

The Fraser prophecy, made by Maisri, Lord Lovet’s Seer, harkened back to 1745 just before the disastrous defeat on Culloden Moor.

“‘With the dawning o’ the new millennium, the virgin Ban-druidh shall be ath-bheothachadh to join with Seumas Ruadh. The full powers that lie within shall emerge on her co-la-breith when she attains her majority. The seal of her womanhood must be broken to protect her from the madness her magic will otherwise unleash. The house of Fraser shall only then vanquish the Sassenach and reclaim the ulaidh of the Clans.’” Jenny quoted.

They fell silent, ruminating over the meaning and possible future events that would unfold if the prophecy came to pass. She would need to be told but by whom and when?

 

“The gathering must continue as usual.” Mac decided, his face filled with sorrow.“We canna let her suspect anything until she is ready. We must keep her busy. I must trust you all to guard her as I canna do it. It is worth more than my life to see her safe.”

“Trust us, Brathair. We’ll nae let her out of our sight. Tis our legacy as well.” Said Jenny reassuringly, taking his large hands in her own diminutive ones.

Methodically they teased out the prophecy.

“Weel we’ve established that Claire is or will be La Dame Blanche and Seumas Ruadh can only be ye. Ye are the last of Lovet’s bloodline, no?” Geillis looked in Mac’s direction.

“Aye” Mac confirmed.

“By law, when the prophecy was made, the age of majority was 25 for a woman.” Said Uncle Lamb.

Claire’s 25th birthday was the next Saturday, just six days away, October 20. If the story of La Dame Blanche was as history told, she would come to full power. She would need to be sheltered from harm at her most vulnerable.

“The prophecy also says that she must be a virgin.” Jenny looked at Uncle Lamb questioningly. “I ken this is an awkward thing to ask but are ye sure she is?”

“Janet! Enough!” Mac exclaimed.

“No, it’s a fair question.” The Professor said. “I can assure you that Claire has always fervently maintained that she would wait until marriage and I have faith that she has.”

Mac got up from the chair and stood by the window looking out at the starlit sky.

“The prophecy states that they must join. I’ll no take her unwillingly. I don’t hold with rape.” 

“Of course Monsieur.” Raymond reassured him. “But that only leaves one possibility.”

“Aye.”

Jenny walked to stand beside him and put her hand on his arm.

“We ken that ye’ve only known each other a few days, Brathair. Wedding a lass ye hardly ken is a daunting thought.” 

“The feeling is there, Monsieur, the connection is undeniable, is it not?”

“Aye ‘tis but what if we canna make her believe? What if she refuses? What if she doesna want me?” Mac’s face showed his inner turmoil.

“That’s up to Master Raymond and myself to deal with. We will talk to her as soon as she is stronger.” Lamb said comfortingly.

“I’ll only marry once and in a way that would make my Mother proud. If we’re tae wed then, I’ve conditions. First we’re to be married in Kirk in front of a priest, second she’s to have my mother’s ring and last she’s to have a proper dress worthy of her.”

They sat making their plans late into the night as they waited for her to wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ath-bheothachadh = reborn or revitalised  
> ulaidh = treasure  
> Co-la-breith = birthday


	16. Confusion reigns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is just not right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used some dialogue directly from the TV series. By no means do I claim it as my own.

I could feel the sun shining through my eyelids as I ascended into consciousness. My head pounded, echoing the knocking on the door. As I opened my eyes, I realised that I was not in my own room at the clinic. I looked around at the blue walls. The Laird’s room at Lallybroch? How did I get here? What happened last night and why did my brain feel so battered?

The soft knocking repeated followed by Geillis’ lilting voice asking permission to enter.

Maybe Geillis could give me an answer. “Come in.”

Geillis’ red head popped through the door and she approached the bed with a mug of something hot. 

“Jaysus Claire, ye really ken how tae put the whiskey away? Mac had tae carry ye doon frae the Ceilidh. Here, I’ve made ye my famous hangover tea.” she said with a grin. “Ye’d make a good Scot.”

I sat up carefully and raised the steaming cup to my lips. Curious, I tried to determine the ingredients, a base of oolong ( my favourite) laced with ginger to settle the stomach, peppermint to reduce the headache and orange for its vitamin C. I was sure there were other ingredients and asked Geillis.

“Weel Claire, I could tell ye,but then I’d have tae kill ye.” she giggled. “Tis a secret recipe but as it’s ye, I’ll share. Ye’ve already guessed the first four ingredients. There’s also milk thistle, coconut and aloe. I’ll show ye how tae make it.”

As the pain in my head started to dissipate, I thought back to what I could remember about the previous evening. I had gone to listen to the music up on the hill with Mac, got cold, Mac gave me some whiskey and shared his plaid with me to keep warm. I didn’t remember drinking more than a couple of glasses but I supposed that I’d been fairly tired. It still didn’t add up. 

I was no lightweight when it came to alcohol. I had a reputation of drinking most of my university classmates under the table without having a hangover much to the annoyance of friends. Surely a couple of whiskeys wouldn’t put me over the edge.

Then I remembered Gwyllyn singing some song about a woman traveling through some stones. Mac had translated the words then nothing. It was as if I’d blocked out what had happened. Maybe it was just as Geillis said but something was niggling at the back of my mind. Something I should be remembering.

“So Claire, is it working? Are ye feeling any better?”

Surprisingly I was and I thanked her for the brew. 

“How about ye get up and help me today? I could show ye how to make some tinctures and teas.”

“I’d really like that, thank you Geillis. I’ll be down in a minute.”

I found her in the surgery, already pounding fragrant leaves in the mortar and pestle. She set me to stripping rosemary which she told me would be used for various concoctions. 

“I make a shampoo that promotes hair growth. The ladies at the clinic appreciate it. Also a salve for muscle pain. It also helps to boost the immune system and improve memory.”

“I’m curious, Geillis, what led you to herbal medicine?” I asked her.

“Master Raymond actually. He saved my life.” 

I raised my eyebrows in question.  
“I was a drug addict. I slept with men to feed my habit.” she said honestly and candidly. 

My eyebrows raised to new heights.

“One night I had had a bad hit and was literally lying in a gutter, needle still in my arm, when Master Raymond found me and brought me here, back to the highlands. He healed me. Brought me back to the land of the living and taught me all I ken. He’s a magician with magic hands.”

She looked at me as if asking for confirmation.

“I believe there are powers beyond our ken,” she continued “beyond what we can see, hear and touch. But ye believe in the powers of magic, do ye not?” she enquired.

“I haven’t really thought about it.” I lied. In fact it was exactly what I’d been thinking about over the last couple of weeks.

“Have ye never found yerself in a situation with no earthly explanation?”

More and more, I admitted to myself. I thought about my sessions with Master Raymond and the mystery of the blue light that emanated from my hands. It was growing brighter and brighter every time I trained with him. I’d yet to believe if it was truly a sign that I could heal as he did, not just using the training and tools I had acquired at University. The rational scientific part of my brain rebelled against the idea.

My consternation must have shown on my face as Geillis dropped the subject.

“Let’s get these herbs pounded and get them on to steep. Then we can go up to the kitchen and have a nice cup of tea and tell each other all our secrets.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was Artisans Day at the Gathering, a chance for all the craftspeople to showcase their talents. The other men had planned to go deer stalking, hoping to bag a beast for that night’s supper. 

After sharing tea with Geillis, as well as hearing more about her life before meeting Master Raymond, I wanted to get out of the house and get some fresh air and sunshine. It seemed the perfect way to shake off the lingering tiredness that wracked me. Geillis offered to show me around and introduce me to the traders.

I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to catch up with Mac to thank him and find out what really happened the previous evening.

As we went from booth to booth admiring the handicrafts, everything from handmade wicker baskets to beautifully bound books covered with the finest kid leather, I kept my eye out for Mac.  
Just as we were sampling some goats milk cheese from the dairy maid, I caught a glimpse of copper hair. Mac was talking to the blacksmith, holding the reins of a massive black horse. I caught his eye as he looked over the rump of his mount. There was a look on his face that I just couldn’t fathom. A mixture of fear and angst. I smiled at him reassuringly and made as if to walk his way, when he suddenly bade a swift farewell to the man, leaped up into the saddle and rode off in the other direction as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Had I said or done something to offend him last night? I wondered. Was I really that drunk? Oh God, did I do something inappropriate? Was he just being a gentleman by bringing me down to the house? I was worried that there was a time in the evening that I just couldn’t remember. 

“Claire, ye must see this gorgeous jewellery.” Geillis was beckoning me to the next booth but my feet felt like they were stuck to the ground. “Claire, are ye alright?”

I shook my head at her. Tears of shame prickled in my eyes. Geillis could see that something was not quite right and hurried back to me. 

 

“What really happened last night Geillis? I think you know more than you’re letting on. Someone would have had to get me out of my clothes and into bed and it sure as hell wouldn’t have been Mac. He seems too much of a gentleman so it had to be either you or Jenny?

Geillis looked guilty but worried at the same time.

“‘Tis something I am not at liberty to tell ye. Ye must speak tae yer uncle or Raymond.”

Despite my questions as she lead me to the house, she kept tight lipped. She took me down the hall where I could hear the murmurings of male voices. She knocked and pulled me into what was obviously a male’s domain, a study, and sitting behind the old oak desk was Master Raymond with my Uncle sitting in the opposite seat. 

Uncle Lamb took my arm gently and sat me down on the chair next to him.

He uttered the words I was dreading. “Claire, we need to talk.


	17. The talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Lamb and Master Raymond reveal some secrets

“Claire, we need to talk.” 

I was desperate to find out about what had really happened the previous evening but afraid.

“What we must do is prepare you for what is to come, mon Cher. As you know, your power is growing but what we need to tell you is that we are sure that you have other abilities that you are unaware of.” Master Raymond said softly and reassuringly.

Why was I not surprised? Was it that I knew something more in my deep subconscious ? I’d been looking for answers all morning and now I was about to get them. Not surprised but uneasy and scared about what they would reveal. Not scared, terrified.

The terror showed in my face. I’d always been told that I had a glass face. One that showed my feelings to the world.

I felt Uncle Lamb’s hand rest lightly on my arm.

“My darling girl, I know you have a logical mind but we need you to listen and accept what we have to say as truth.”

I nodded, trusting my uncle. I remembered something he had once said to me. “The truth carries a weight that no lie can counterfeit.” Even though the truth may weigh heavily on me, I needed to hear it.

“I know, Madonna, that you have questions about what happened last night but before I can explain that, we must go back to the beginning, the source of your power. In your travels with your uncle you visited the ancient stone circle at Stonehenge, did you not?”

Stonehenge had been a particular project of Uncle Lamb’s, working alongside historians and archeologists from English Heritage. They studied the Neolithic structure for months, measuring each lintel and sarsen, taking samples of the stones for analysis and excavating the surroundings.

“You know then,” Master Raymond continued, “that it is only one of many such stone circles in the British Isles. Not far from here is a much smaller circle on a hill called Craig na Dun. It translates to The Man’s Rock. Some say it is the large central stone that gives it that name.”

I had echoes of a memory of the song Gwyllyn had sung flowing through my mind.

“Ah, I see you are starting to remember.” He said gazing into my eyes as if reading my thoughts again. It was as if that he had followed a thread that was connected to my inner psyche.

Uncle Lamb took over.

“The stories are old, perhaps as old as the stones themselves. Tales that have been passed down from generation to generation through ballads and songs. The songs, such as the one Gwyllyn sang, tell the stories of people who travel through the stones.”

“But that’s impossible.” My scientific mind screamed, only to be reminded of the mystery of the blue light.

“The circle at Craig na Dun marks a place on the earth where the powers of nature come together.” Master Raymond went on. “The stones gather the powers and give it focus, like light through a magnifying glass and for certain people, on certain days, it allows them to pierce the veil of time.”

“I’m sorry but are you saying that it’s like a portal? Surely you can’t expect me to believe that?”

“Claire, remember me showing you our family tree?” Uncle Lamb asked. 

Again I nodded.

“Yes. The other Claire. The witch. But what does she have to do with time travel? She lived and died in France.” I replied.

“Yes Claire, she did but remember what I told you about the Scottish soldier who fathered her child? We don’t believe that he died in battle. We believe that he came from another time.”

I sat there teasing out the vague memory I had of the song. Were they saying that the soldier was a time traveler?

“Do you also remember the conversation we had about reincarnation, Madonna? Your Uncle and I are both of the same opinion. It is not a myth. Not all are born again but as it is for those that can travel through the stones, there are some of us who come back to live once more. There is always a reason, some unfinished business or a great love that makes this possible.”

If it hadn’t been for the fact that I knew both men to be honourable men, I would have thought them insane.

Uncle Lamb looked at me in earnest. 

“I know that this is a lot to take in, sweetheart. There is a prophecy about La Dame Blanche, that she will be reborn and both Master Raymond and I believe that this is what has happened to you. You are Claire Beauchamp once again.”

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ” I muttered under my breath. “So what you’re saying is that I’m the reincarnation of some 18th century woman. Some woman with the same name. That’s not possible.”

“Perhaps, Madonna, if I take you back to what happened last night, things may become clearer. Will you meditate with me?.”

He rose and closed the curtains as I settled myself comfortably in my chair. Finally I may get some answers. He moved his chair in front of mine and took my hands in his, the blue glow appearing immediately. Uncle Lamb’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“Yes, Professor.” Master Raymond said to his unspoken query. “It is stronger.”

He began the humming that had become customary during our sessions, a low droning to start then a more melodic hum. I felt myself relax as Raymond asked me to recount my experience. The memories flooded back. Gwyllyn’s song, Mac’s soft voice relaying the story, the feeling of dread and being so cold. The panic in Mac’s voice as he carried me to the house, his gentle arms and the emotion pouring out of him. The vision at the stones and his voice calling to me from within them. Then the blue wings and the weightlessness as I rose above the bed. Corpus reverti. Venit hiacyntho lux. The descent into my body and him summoning me once more.

I felt Raymond’s hands leave mine as I came back into the room. The expression on both men’s faces showed understanding but also a small amount of shock.

“She has advanced much faster than I had foreseen.” Raymond remarked to my uncle. 

The visions brought about by the meditation left me feeling weak but restless. I needed to get out of the house, away from the gathering. I needed some time alone. Time to think and absorb everything. My mind jumped from thought to thought like a stone skipping across a pond. I knew they were worried about me, knew they wanted to talk about what happened, but I knew if I did, things would pour out of me that I wanted to keep locked away forever.

I got up from the chair and walked out of the room, out the front door, to the stables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used a few phrases from the tv series throughout and by no means claim them as my own work.


	18. An accidental encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A horseback ride leads to more.

Uncle Lamb had taught me to ride during our time in Ireland. I hadn’t ridden in years so would need a gentle, quiet horse. As I entered the stables, I spotted Auld Alec and asked him for his assistance. He made that Scottish sound in his throat and mumbled something about novice riders ruining horses.

“I don’t mean to be any trouble.” I said. “Is Mac back from his ride? Perhaps he could help me.”

“The lad’s no here. Best leave him to himself today.”

“I didn’t know I was a bother to him.”

“I dinna ken If yer a bother or no. It’s for the lad to judge. It’s best for all concerned if Mac’s left tae himself today.” Alec said as he moved toward a stall containing a medium sized grey mare. “This is Brimstone. I’m sure she’ll be alright for your needs.”

“Brimstone?” It sounded ominous.

“Och, It’s like calling a tall man wee. She’s sweet, not too fast and will go for days. I’ll saddle her fer ye shall I?”

“Thank you, Alec.” I said appreciatively.

 

As soon as Brimstone was harnessed, I was off. I needed to be alone. To get away from the madness that was engulfing me. Nature had always been my refuge. Even when living in London, I spent hours in the parks and gardens when studying got crazy. I rode across the fields, up the hills towards the forest. I needed to ground myself. Lose myself in the peace that living things gave me. Come back down to earth. 

I’d been riding for about an hour or so, lost deep in my thoughts when Brimstone obliged, shying from a deer that crashed through the woods and sending me crashing to the ground before running off back the way we’d come . The wind was knocked right out of me and as I tried to stand up my ankle gave way. I’d twisted it in the stirrup as I’d fallen. I touched it gingerly. Not broken thankfully but definitely sprained. I again tried to stand on it but knew I wasn’t going to get far. I considered my position. How long until Brimstone made her way to Lallybroch? How long until someone would come to look for me? I’d broken the first rule of outdoorsmanship. Always let someone know where you’re going. Truth was that I didn’t know where I was going.

Pondering my fate, I scooted as best as I could to lean up against a nearby tree. Behind me a twig snapped.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” 

“Nah, Sassenach. It’s just me.” Mac answered from the shadows. “Are ye alright, lass? I just saw yon Brimstone running down the hill as if Auld Nick himself was after her. I figured someone might have come a cropper. I dinna ken it’d be ye?”

I explained about the deer and my ankle. In a heartbeat he was kneeling at my feet inspecting the damage. His strong hands gently touched my ankle. A shiver ran through my body.

“Dhia, it looks painful. Can ye stand?”

I shook my head as he held his hands out to help me. Instead he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to a small glade just the other side of the copse. His horse stood quietly cropping the grass. Mac lowered me down onto the grass carefully beside the rippling stream that ran through the glade. He quickly untied his stock and knelt beside the stream to wet it. 

“We need tae get the swelling down.” he explained.

Captain Bloody Obvious, I thought, then berated myself. Of course he was just being kind. He took my foot in his hand, undid my boot and removed it. He then looked at me with embarrassment, blushing up to the tips of his ears.

“I’ll need yer stocking off, lass if I’m to bind yer ankle.”

Now it was my turn to be bashful. It was crazy. This is the 21st century and I’m embarrassed about showing my leg to a man. I normally dressed quite conservatively but most of my usual skirts only came to the knee. In fact I had some dresses that were quite a bit shorter. Maybe it was just that I was getting used to dressing up in 18th century clothing that brought out the modesty I felt at that moment.

“May I?” he asked. 

I nodded assent and his hands slowly ruched my skirts and petticoats up my leg. He untied the garter holding up the woollen stocking and his hands grazed my calf as he pulled it off. That familiar tingling feeling made it’s way up my leg and into my very core. My breath became faster as his eyes rose to mine. He slowly wrapped the wet stock around my ankle, the coolness of the water from the icy burn giving relief.

“Do ye hurt anywhere else, lass?”he asked with concern. 

“No I’m fine, thank you.” I looked at him nervously wanting to broach the subject of the previous evening but not quite sure how to start.

“I’d best get ye back before they send out a search party. Once Brimstone gets back without ye, they’ll ken there’s sommat amiss.”

“Must we go just yet? It’s just that my Uncle and Master Raymond wanted to...um...discuss something and it got a bit...intense. I kind of walked out on them...actually it was more like a sprint.” I dropped my gaze to my hands, as if to study them intently. “I’m not sure I can face them quite yet.”

He came and sat beside me and took my hands in his.

“Was it last night ye were discussing? What happened at the Ceilidh? Ye dinna have tae talk about it if ye dinna feel up tae it.”

“Actually I’ve been trying to find you to thank you for your help. I’m sorry for what happened. It probably freaked you out.” I looked up into those sapphire blue eyes. They were filled with understanding.

“Aye, ye nearly scared the bowels outta me, but more, I was scarrit fer ye.” The fear showed in his voice. “Ye were sae cold, Sassenach, and then ye had that...turn. I didna ken quite what tae do.”

I felt his hand ghost my cheek. Without thought, my head tilted to meet it. I needed his touch. His fingertips ran down my cheek to my chin and with one finger, he lifted it as his lips closed on mine. His kiss was as gentle as the caress of a butterfly’s wings, seeking permission to continue. My hand slowly raised to snake around his neck, my fingers burrowing themselves in the russet curls that rested on his nape.

Nervously, I pulled him closer, my lips searching for his. I felt a hum escape my throat as they pressed together. Gently and hesitantly, both unsure of where this would lead. He grasped my shoulders as the kiss grew stronger, his thumbs making lazy circles on my collar bones. His tongue ran along my lower lip seeking entrance. Haltingly, I surrendered to the feelings that were bubbling up inside me. My kiss mirrored his as our embrace intensified when I started to feel like I was dissolving. It was a feeling I’d only felt once before and it terrified me.

I pulled away abruptly, trying to shake it off. 

“Sassenach? What is it? Tell me.” His expression was troubled. A sense of déjà vu passed between us.

“It’s just...just...” I struggled to articulate the sensations pulsing through my body and mind.

“Ye look like ye did last night just before ye feinted.” He rose suddenly, went to his saddle bag and pulled out a silver flask then grabbed his plaid from where it had been folded in front of the saddle. 

He knelt behind me, placing the plaid around my shoulders and pulled me back into him. Mac passed me the open flask, urging me to drink.

“Whiskey, the water of life.” he said as I sipped the fiery liquid. A warmth flowed through my veins melting away the dread that had begun to settle. I sighed gratefully.

“D’ye want tae talk about it, lass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have included some dialogue from the tv series in this story. By no means do I claim it as my own.


	19. Let it be the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The encounter in the glade brings them closer.

“D’ye want tae talk about it, lass?” Mac asked gently, settling more comfortably on the soft grass. His arm tentatively reached around me to pull me closer. Sensing my consent, it rested across my chest, his fingertips softly stroking my upper arm. 

I felt the tension leaving me and safe in the cocoon that was the warmth of the plaid. 

“I’m just not sure quite where to begin. It’s all so complicated. You’ll likely think I’m insane.”

“Claire, I know that there are things ye dinna wish tae tell me but I have one thing tae ask ye. Honesty. When ye tell me something let it be the truth and I promise ye the same.”

“I agree.” And with that I launched into my story. I told him about how I’d come to the highlands to seek healing for my uncle. About meeting Master Raymond and the discovery of the powers of healing, the emanating of the blue light that passed between us. I told him about the claims that my Uncle and Raymond had made about me being a reincarnation of my ancestor, La Dame Blanche. I told him the whole story. It came pouring out of me like a cataract over a broken dam. I didn’t realise how badly I needed to tell someone, anyone until that moment. He listened, I doubted if he understood or really believed any of it but he listened.

I looked up at his expression, not one of disbelief but more of curiosity.

“You think I’m stark raving mad don’t you.”

“No, Sassenach, I believe ye. I dinna understand it a bit, but I trust ye. I trust yer word, yer heart. I trust there’s a truth between us. So...whatever ye tell me, I will believe ye. Is there anything else?”

I told him about my vision of the standing stones. I felt rather than heard a hitch in his voice.

“Ye ken the legend then. The woman of Balnain. The one Gwyllyn sang about.”

“Yes, my Uncle and Raymond told me more about it this morning. But how can it possibly be true. Surely you don’t believe it.”

“I’m an educated man, Claire, if I may be so bold. Maybe no so educated as ye, but I had a tutor, a good one. Taught me Latin and Greek and such and childhood stories of fairies, devils, water horses in Lochs. But I am also a highlander, born and bred. We Scots are a superstitious people. Our stories are steeped in magic and tales of the auld ones. All myths and legends are born of truth, of a real event. Sure, o’er time they become more fanciful but I don’t believe in tempting fate by making light of them. Have ye ever read Sherlock Holmes, Sassenach? He says something interesting. ‘When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth.’ So yes lass, I do believe it.”

Silence fell between us, both absorbed in our own thoughts. 

From beyond the trees I heard my name, three or four different voices calling out. A search party. Jenny, Angus, Rupert and Murtagh rode into the glade. Jenny leaped from the dun mare and rushed toward me. 

“Christ, Claire are ye alright. When Brimstone came back without ye, we all feared fer ye, ye no knowing the terrain around here. What in God’s name possessed ye to go riding on yer own?” 

“Stop yer blitherin’ woman,” Murtagh admonished “canna ye see she needs tending. Can ye stand, lass? No? We’d best get ye up here with me and I’ll see ye tae the house.”

With that Rupert and Angus helped me up onto Murtagh’s horse and before I knew it we were heading back to Lallybroch, Angus and Rupert as escorts. I asked about Mac and Jenny.

“They have a matter to discuss but they’ll be along shortly.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are ye daft, Brathair? Have ye completely lost yer mind? Dinna ye listen tae one thing anyone said last night? Ye could have put her in danger. Everything that has been done to keep her safe could be in jeopardy.” Jenny hissed at him angrily as soon as the others had left the clearing.

“Jenny, stop...please...stop.” The venom in her voice and the realisation of the risk to Claire shook him to the core. “I tried, truly. I left Lallybroch today to give her space. I meant to miss the rest of the gathering if that’s what it took. But when I found her lying there, hurt, what was I supposed to do. Leave her, with no one knowing where she was, no one to tend to her and no way of getting back? I couldna just turn my back on her.” He sat down heavily on the ground, head in his hands. “I swear to you on our mother’s grave, I would give my life itself to protect her.”

Jenny laid her hand gently on his head, her anger gone.

“Och, I ken, mo luaidh, I shouldna have spoken tae ye so. ‘Tis just that when I saw her there, resting in yer arms, looking so loved, I feared all was lost.” 

“Jenny, ye kent I would never touch her like that. Ye have tae believe me. We kissed, that’s all, it just happened.”

“Aye. I believe ye. I’ll leave ye now tae yer thoughts. I must get back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mac paced up and down the glade, hating himself. ‘When ye tell me something let it be the truth and I promise ye the same.’ A promise he had already broken. He’d feigned ignorance while she poured her heart out, pretending that he knew nothing about what she’d been through. But how could he have done anything else. It was not his place to tell her everything she needed to know.

The memory of her tender lips and the wee noise she made as he kissed her. Her head resting on his chest with her curls tickling his chin. That long expanse of her leg, skin as soft as satin. Her soft, full breast as it moved with each breath under his arm as he held her.

He knew now that she hadn’t been told about the prophecy, still had no idea what was ahead of her. Five days to go. He had to be patient. 

He had to stay away, avoid her at all cost until he knew it was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is taken from the tv series.
> 
> I do not claim it as my own.


	20. The dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire accepts that all could be true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. Been busy preparing for our local agricultural show so not had much time to write.
> 
> I also apologise for my French. I rely on google translate so if it’s terribly wrong please let me know

As they entered the door yard, Jenny, who had caught up with them, called for Mrs Crook. She appeared almost immediately and Jenny instructed her to fetch ice packs and bandages.

Murtagh dismounted and helped me down gently from his horse. Angus and Rupert took charge of the horses. I thanked them both for their help as they left towards the stables.

“Och, think nowt aboot it, Mistress Claire.” said Rupert “Just glad we could see ye safe.” Angus nodded in agreement.

Murtagh helped me hobble up the front steps and onto the sofa in the parlour. Jenny had an ice pack ready along with a salve from Geillis’ stall.

“The highlands are no place for a woman on her own. Ye’d do well tae remember that.” he admonished in his gruff way.

“I will, thank you Murtagh, you’ve been very kind.” I replied putting my hand on his arm gratefully.

“Och, away with ye, lass.” He blushed slightly. “I’ll be away tae tend tae the horses and leave Jenny tae her tending of yer ankle.”

In a flash, Jenny had my foot up on a stool, anointed with the fragrant cream and firmly bandaged. She went to the sideboard and poured me a generous glass of whiskey.

“That’ll dull the pain for the moment until I can get ye something stronger. Ye just need some rest, but ye already ken that, aye?

“Thank you, Jenny, truly. I’m sorry for being a bother and having you all traipsing around looking for me. I just needed to get away from everything for a little while.”

“It’s nae bother Claire, we’re just glad yer back safe.” she replied with a smile. There was something behind that smile that I just couldn’t read. Concern perhaps? “We’ll get ye up tae bed tae rest. Tomorrow is another busy day. The men brought back two deer from the hunt so we’re in for a right feast.”

Together with Mrs Crook, she helped me up the stairs chattering about the horse sales that were happening the following day and the cooking that would be needed to be done in preparation for the horse traders banquet tomorrow. They soon had me tucked in snugly in the lairds large bed with the promise of supper in bed later on.

As they left, I thought about my conversation with Mac up at the glade. What possessed me to blurt it all out? He must think of me as some crazed lunatic filled with preposterous delusions despite his consoling words. Maybe he did believe me. His lack of surprise when I asked him about the stones seemed to confirm the possibility that the story was true.

I still wondered about the effect he had on me each time we touched. I could still feel the brush of his hand on my leg, the weight of his arm as it rested on my chest and the way his fingertips softly stroked my arm. Then there was that kiss, his tender lips on mine, then that disturbing sensation of dissolving that frightened the hell out of me. I needed to know why this was happening. Perhaps it was time to accept what I’d been told and find out what else Uncle Lamb and Master Raymond had to say.

I started to get tired and whether it was a result of the whiskey or everything I’d experienced that day, I slept only to dream of voices, his voice, mellow and soft, coming to me through the stones, urging me to come to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was in a church but it was filled with beds. Beds filled with sick and injured people. I was discussing a patient’s diagnosis with an elderly woman, a nun. Suddenly there was a sense of urgency, wounded men were being brought in through the doors some with serious injuries. There had been an explosion. I rushed to a man who had had half his arm blown off. I applied a tourniquet to stem the bleeding and called for water, sutures and instruments. Another physician appeared at the bedside and we worked together to cut through the bone, clean the wound and stitch the flap into place. One of the nuns attended to the bandaging as we moved to the next patient. For the next few hours we worked furiously stitching wounds, attending to burns and splinting limbs. 

I was about to leave when I saw a man sitting in a corner looking like he was in considerable pain. He looked towards me and I was compelled to go to him. He was unlike any of the other patients I had treated. His dress was different and there was a look about him, a fierceness, not one of savagery but one of passion. 

He was holding his arm closely to his side, his shoulder at an odd angle. Obviously dislocated. I wondered how long he had been there. Calling another physician to assist, I asked him his name.

“Je suis Jamie, Mademoiselle.” His French was excellent but I detected an accent. 

“Angais?” I asked, doubting it as the English are notorious for their poor use of our language. 

“Non, Ecossais.” he clarified.

A scot then. That accounted for his clothing. My English was limited but I tried to explain to him what it was that I would need to do to alleviate his pain.

“Monsieur, your, how do you say, epaule, is not in it’s proper place. It will need to be adjusted.” I told him, indicating his shoulder.

“Aye, and ye ken what to do for it?” he asked .

“Oui, I am a medicin, a physician. You will need to hold still. Monsieur Foree will hold you while I push it back. Are you ready?”

“Je suis pret.”

He gritted his teeth as my colleague held him, he looked me in the eye and nodded. Bending his arm up, I cupped his elbow and pushed hard. I felt the joint move back into it’s correct position. All that time we kept eye contact as if we were somehow connected. 

Strapping it up, I told him that he would need to rest it for about a week and to come back if it didn’t feel better in a few days. 

As he stood to leave, he took my hand in thanks. A spark passed between us. His cat-like eyes met mine. 

“Thank ye, mademoiselle.”

“Claire. Claire Beauchamp.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	21. An explanation of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. Family illness and preparation for our local agricultural show has kept me busy.
> 
> Thanks so much for your encouragement and comments.

I woke slowly to Jenny’s voice. 

“Claire, dearie, I’ve brought ye some breakfast. Thought ye’d rather rest yer ankle a wee bit more before ye get oot abed.”

She laid the tray on the bedside table then adjusted the pillows as I stretched and sat up. She laid the tray on my lap. 

“Thank you Jenny, you’ve been more than kind.”

“Yer uncle and Raymond are doonstairs. They’d like tae speak with ye when yer ready.”

It was time to face the music. It was like a tune that you know but can’t quite recall, a knowing.

“Send them up if you don’t mind please, Jenny, I need to speak to them too.”

Moments later I heard footsteps coming down the landing and the door opened to admit the men.

“Claire? How’s the ankle, darling?” I heard Uncle Lamb say 

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.” I said to myself then looked up at them.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just a sprain. I’m sorry for running out on you both earlier. I was just a bit overwhelmed. I needed time to think.”

“Oui, mon cher, it was a lot to take in, n’est-ce pas?”

“Well I’m ready for part 2 now that I’ve had time to digest what you told me earlier.” A false bravado overtook me.

Je Suis Prest. The motto that was on the Saltaire above the fireplace caught my eye. I was ready, ready for what I had no idea but I had resigned myself to the fact that my life was never going to be quite the same. Three weeks ago I had been just a normal girl, a surgeon with a busy schedule but an uncomplicated life. Now I’d been thrust into a life I didn’t understand. Maybe, just maybe I could now get some clarification on how this would impact the rest of my life. I could now see how the healing gift I possessed could work hand in hand with my medical career but I would have to learn more from Master Raymond about how to deal with it in my practice of conventional medicine.

They brought over the two chairs that were in front of the hearth and sat beside the bed. Here was I, a captive audience. I could not run off this time as much as I wanted to put the last few days behind me and return to the certainty of my life before coming to the highlands. 

 

“Claire,” said Uncle Lamb, “It’s been hard watching you try to deal with all of this but you are not alone. You have us to come to whenever you have questions or if you’re more comfortable, you could talk to Jenny or Geillis.”

I was stunned. Jenny or Geillis? How and why did they know? What part of this could they help me with? What was their connection in all this madness?

“I don’t understand.”

“Madonna, it will all become clear.” Raymond looked into my eyes as he took my hand in his. I felt the familiar warmth that radiated from his palms. It was somehow comforting. “You dreamt last night, n’est ce-pas? Yes, I see it in your face. Tell me about it.”

I don’t normally remember my dreams, not in much detail, usually just an echo of a feeling but my recollections this time were as clear as the daylight streaming through the casement window of the room. I remembered every minute detail. It was as if it were a real memory, not a dream, as if I could feel the blood warm on my hands as I operated on the man with the severed arm. The forceps, reaching for the elusive arteries, veins, ligaments and nerves, grasping the ends to be tied off and cauterised. Each stitch of the sutures as the needle pierced the skin as the flap was sewn in place. The blackened and blistering skin on the face of another and a acrid smell reminiscent of a roasted pig. The greasy feel of the ointment, ‘Hangman’s grease’, Monsieur Foret informed me, as it was applied to the burnt flesh. The cream colour of the strips of course linen that served as a bandage. I heard the echoes of screaming, crying and moaning of other patients, reverberating from the walls of the church as they awaited treatment. The sense of urgency as we moved from one man to another to staunch the bleeding, remove limbs and stitch wounds. The smell of blood, urine and faeces, the stench of humanity at the moment of suffering.

Then the Scot. His fierceness as he tried to stifle his pain. That look in his eyes, slanted cats eyes, the colour of the deepest ocean, filled with trust and the hiss of his breath forced through his teeth as I manipulated his shoulder, the blanching of his warriors face as the joint suddenly slipped back into place. The warmth of his skin radiating from his body in that cold church as I attended to his injury. That spark that passed between us when he took my hand reminded me of another. The deep rumble of that burr as he spoke his thanks. However, except for his eyes I could not now recall his face but one thing I’ll never forget, his name was Jamie.

As I recounted all of this to the pair that sat beside me, I wondered about the clarity of my vision. Why was it that this particular dream had felt so real? I looked to Master Raymond for clarification.

“Madonna,” he said, his eyes like pieces of onyx piercing mine, “you wonder why you dreamed so vividly, why it is all so clear? It is because, my dear sweet child, this is not a dream. It is a memory, a recollection of another lifetime, an experience that you have had in the past. I spoke before about reincarnation and I believe that you are remembering that lifetime, the life of another Claire Beauchamp, La Dame Blanche. We think it is crucial that you are taken back to this time. You must remember so that you can make sense of what is happening in this life. A past life regression so to speak. Are you prepared to return, to reacquaint yourself with your past?”

What choice did I really have? I was on this roller coaster of thoughts, dreams and visions, trying to make sense of it all. Perhaps this would finally answer some of my questions and bring the clarity that I needed.

“Yes” I whispered.

Uncle Lamb took my hand and asked me to lay down.  
“I’ll be right here.” he reassured me.

Master Raymond hovered around the other side of the bed. 

“Now Claire, I need you to relax. First your toes, then the balls of your feet, your heels...” He continued our usual routine as I felt myself sink lower and lower.

As I sank into oblivion I saw him, waiting for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	22. A glimpse into the past.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire regresses and sees her past life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. The stories Jamie tells are a quick précis of “Virgins’ a novella by DG.

I saw him waiting for me as I was leaving the hospital a few hours later after the harrowing day tending to the victims of the Royal Armoury explosion. Mother Hildegard had dismissed me for the day. 

“Go home, Claire. You have done all you can do for them today. Go home and rest. Tomorrow is another busy day.”

The Scottish man, Jamie, stood on the steps of the church in the advancing twilight, the last rays of the sun touching his hair creating a halo of gold and copper. He looked like he belonged on top of one of the columns that surrounded the church amongst the saints who adorned them.

“Monsieur Jamie, why are you still here? You should be at home resting.”

“I thought...erm... that is I was just wondering if ye required an escort home. The streets of Paris are not safe at night especially for a young woman as yerself, Mademoiselle.” he replied blushing slightly.

Wanting to reward his gallantry, I refrained from telling him that I was quite capable of walking home through the streets alone as I did every evening and graciously accepted his offer. 

“Je vous remercie, Monsieur. You are too kind.”

There was another reason for accepting his offer. I was intrigued by the connection that seemed to be between us. That spark that I was sure he felt too was more than imagination. I felt a need to know this man, that somehow we were destined to be linked in some way.

As we made our way along the Rue St. Antoine, I asked how it was that a young Scot such as himself was here in France.

He told me about joining his childhood friend as a mercenary soldier after troubles with the English redcoats. To escape persecution he had come to France to seek his fortune.

He was young. Only nineteen to my four and twenty but a man, full grown. Wide solid shoulders, strong muscular arms and well defined chest that tapered to slim hips and toned legs in the tight breeches that he wore. 

As we approached a tavern, he asked me if I had eaten. I thought that most likely he himself was hungry as young men are wont to be.

“If I’m not being too forward Mademoiselle, would ye allow me to buy ye some supper? Just as a way tae thank ye for tending to my wee injury.”

I acquiesced, agreeing that a meal would be most welcome after such a trying day. We entered the tavern and he found a table in the corner away from the noisy crowd and summoned the barmaid. He ordered a simple supper of roast beef, bread and cheese accompanied by a carefully chosen bottle of wine. He poured us both a glass and raised it. 

“Slainte. Tae an angel in disguise.” He said as he saluted me.

“Merci, a votre sante.” I replied holding my own glass aloft. 

I was surprised at the smoothness of the wine especially in a tavern such as this. He smiled, one side of his mouth curling up and a twinkle in his eyes.

“My cousin, Jared is a wine merchant here in Paris and I happen to know that he supplies this particular establishment.”

As we slowly ate and drank, he told me more about himself, about the latest adventure he had with his friend, Ian, the son of the factor of his father’s estate. They had been employed to escort a wagon of rugs to Bordeaux when they were ambushed by a group of bandits then on the return journey they escorted a young Jewish woman, the daughter of a doctor to Paris to be married to the son of the chief rabbi, only to have her abscond and elope with another. The tale was filled with danger and intrigue, sword fights and the rescue of a damsel in distress. He was a natural born story teller and I was entranced by the tales he told.

I asked him how it was that he had injured his shoulder. He had been passing the armoury when the explosion happened. Hearing the cries from within he joined a group of passers by to help the wounded men inside. He had already assisted a few men out but as he was pulling a fourth bleeding man from the rubble, a rafter fell, knocking him to the ground and causing the dislocation. He had come to the hospital in the wagon with the victims.

It was late by the time we left the tavern and true to his word he escorted me to the door of the house where I had a small garret room on the third floor. I thanked him for his protection, offering him my hand. He took my hand in his and bowed, a light, chaste kiss grazing my knuckles as befitted a gentleman. Goosebumps rose on my skin as his lips met my hand. I felt my heartbeat double it’s tempo at his touch.

“May I call on ye, Mademoiselle.” he requested hopefully. 

“Please call me Claire. And yes, you may.”

“Au revoir then, Claire.”

“Farewell, Jamie.” I answered. 

I watched him walk away into the night, turning once to glance over his shoulder. I made my way up the stairs to my room. My hand still tingled as I readied myself for bed. Would he really seek me out? I just knew I would dream of those curls that escaped from the blue ribbon he wore to hold back the mop of red. I would lose myself in the eyes like tide pools on a summers day. And that smile, not a toothy grin but subtle with full lips that just curled up at one side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother Hildegard had asked me to visit the apothecary on the way to the church to collect much needed supplies. As I entered the now familiar shop, I remembered my very first visit.

At 16, I had just arrived in Paris, sent to L’Hopital des Anges by the nuns at the orphanage where I had spent my childhood. My parents had died of smallpox when I was just six. The Reverend mother recognised my affinity with people who were sick and injured and taught me all she knew about healing but saw a greater potential than she could foster. It was time to send me to Mother Hildegard.

Maître Raymond was an apothecary, knowing the uses of herbs and how to prepare them. Mother Hildegard decided that I should study with him for a time. He also volunteered at the hospital along with other practitioners from many walks of life, butchers, undertakers, a corsetiere and the King’s executioner, Monsieur Foret. Mother Hildegard would take them as she found them.

The first time I entered the Apothecary’s shop, I was seized with wonderment. So many strange and interesting smells, stuffed exotic animals sitting on shelves and adorning the walls were curious symbols. I was welcomed by a young woman whose skin was as dark as ebony. I was fascinated as I had never met another like her before. I stammered a little, telling her that I’d been sent by Mother Hildegard. 

“Ah, but of course, Cherie. We have been expecting you. I shall fetch Maître Raymond immediatement.” She disappeared behind the counter and before I knew it I was facing him as if he appeared from nowhere.

Maître Raymond was a small man and at sixteen I towered over him. He, however, had a very large presence and very kind eyes. I immediately felt at home and couldn’t wait to learn all I could.  
Over the next few months, Maître Raymond and his assistant, Delphine, taught me much about the preparation and purpose of the herbs and other ingredients that made up the tinctures, teas, ointments and infusions that were their stock in trade.

I often found Maître Raymond glancing at me curiously as if there was something odd. Then came the day I was invited into the inner sanctum.

Behind the counter was a small door. It looked like any of the other panels that made up the walls but it had a small latch that was barely visible. I had seen Maître Raymond disappear through it on various occasions but knew instinctively that the space behind that door was sacred. 

That day had begun as any other. I had been pounding herbs in the mortar and pestle, laughing with Delphine about her flirtation with the butcher’s son when the panel to the room opened and from it’s depths, I was summoned.

Delphine nodded at me, telling me that I mustn’t keep him waiting. Nervously I approached and ducked through the opening that revealed a large room. I couldn’t fathom how it could possibly fit inside the small shop. It was like....

“Like magic?” I heard Maître Raymond finish my thoughts. He smiled, making his already frog like mouth seem positively amphibious. “You will find that not all is as it seems, mon Cher.”

I took in my surroundings and was entranced by what I saw. This eclipsed anything that I had seen in the shop outside. A shelf of skulls, very old, of creatures I could not imagine. Animal skins of kinds I had heard of but never seen. Other items that I could never imagine the use of with cogs and gears, shiny and glinting in the light of the candles that lit the room. 

“I’m very interested in things that are not of this time and I am most interested in you, Mon petit.”

I remembered those looks that he had given me and wondered what he meant. It was then he took my hand and for the first time I saw it, a flickering blue light, hovering over our hands.

Over time I studied hard with him as he instructed me and challenged me in the use of what he called the ‘mystical arts’. My powers of healing grew as did my reputation. There had been whispers in certain circles that I was La Dame Blanche, the White lady. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I collected the supplies Mother Hildegard had requested and returned to the hospital. The nuns were already busy redressing wounds and burns as I checked each of my patients. It was a quiet day and at around midday, Mother Hildegard urged me to go home early. 

“Go enjoy the beautiful weather, mon Cher. You deserve an afternoon off.”

Gratefully, I removed my apron and tidied my wayward curls as much as I could without the aid of a mirror. I was looking forward to an afternoon free of the fetid smells that permeated the church. I stepped outside and as my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, I saw him, waiting as he had the day before. 

Jamie.


	23. Life is not a picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picnic in the park goes a little awry

Jamie.

There he stood, bold as brass as if he knew I would be there at that very moment, a lopsided grin adorning his chiseled face.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Claire.” His grin widened. 

“Bonjour Jamie.” I replied with a smile to equal his. “What are you doing here?”

“Weel...yer did say I could call on ye, so here I am.”

“But it’s midday. How did you know...” In the back of my mind I suspected a conspiracy was afoot.

“Erm... I may have had a wee word with Mother Hildegard tae ask her for a wee favour and let ye go a wee bit earlier than usual.” His smile became a full grin before he blushed and seemed to take great interest in the formation of the cobblestones at his feet.

I laughed at the idea of him begging Mother Hildegard for anything let alone the opportunity to abscond with one of her physicians.

It was then I noticed the wicker basket he clutched in his uninjured hand. This was no spur of the moment decision. 

“So Claire, will ye come walk with me?” His cerulean eyes pleaded as he bowed nobly.

“Mais Oui Monsieur.” I replied with an answering curtsy.

I descended the remaining steps down to the street as he offered his elbow, slightly encumbered by the basket. 

“Where are we going?” I asked intrigued.

“I thought, perhaps a wee picnic in the Jardin des Tuileries . ‘Tis a little bit of a walk but ‘tis a lovely day.”

A walk in the sunshine and a picnic sounded perfect and so together we strolled, arm in arm, making small talk until we reached the gardens created by Catherine de’Medici beside the Palais des Tuileries.

Jamie led me to the shade of a huge chestnut tree and reached into the basket for a tartan blanket. Restricted as he was with his injury, I took the blanket from him and spread it out. He took my hand to help me down and once again that spark leaped between us. His eyes met mine, confused, as he lowered himself beside me.

Trying to ignore what had just happened, I started to unpack the basket. He had assembled a small feast, pate, cheese, figs, grapes, cornichons, a baguette, the obligatory bottle of wine and a small basket of strawberries. 

“Mon Dieu, Jamie. There is enough food here to feed a family.”

Sheepishly he shrugged. “I wasna sure what ye would like.”

“Merci, Jamie, you are very thoughtful.” I reached over and pecked him on the cheek in thanks.

His blush reached the tips of his ears and radiated down his neck. He fumbled with the wine bottle in frustration.

“Dhia,” he cursed, “I canna open this with just one hand. I canna do anything all wrapped up with these damned bandages.”

“Would you like me to remove them?” I offered.

“But ye said I needed to keep them on for a week to heal.”

“There is another way.” I replied as I loosened the linen sling. “Do you trust me?”

He nodded, the look on his face curious. I laid the bandages aside and moved closer. I placed my hands on the swollen and bruised joint and closed my eyes. A soft hum escaped my lips as I felt the warmth radiating from my hands. Breathing deeply, I willed the blue light to appear, grow larger and seep deeply into his flesh. I could feel him tremble under my palms then gradually relax as the pain dissipated. He gasped then breathed a sigh of relief. I removed my hands and opened my eyes to meet his. He rolled his shoulder tentatively then with more confidence.

My eyes began to lose focus and I felt the blood run from my face.

“What?....How?” His voice moderated from incredibility to panic as he saw my face blanch. “Dhia, Claire, what did ye just do? Claire? Claire are ye well, lass? Claire!”

He caught me as my body began to crumple. He lay me down on the blanket and took my face in both of his large, square hands. 

“Claire,” he pleaded again, “mo ghraidh, look at me lass. Are ye alright?”

The blood returned to my face and I opened my eyes slowly. The look of terror left his face to be replaced with one of relief. I managed to take a deep breath and struggled to sit up. Jamie caught me by both shoulders and moved himself behind me. He gently lay me back to lean against his broad chest.

From the basket he withdrew a small silver flask, unstoppered it and raised it to my lips.

“Here, lass. Drink slowly. ‘Tis the water of life.”

As I sipped the fiery liquid, I felt the warmth flow through my body as I came back to myself.

“Merci, Jamie. I’m sorry to have frightened you. It happens sometimes.”

“Frightened me? Ye just about scared the bowels outta me, lass? What happened? What did ye do?” His finger hooked up under my chin and turned my face towards him.

“I healed you.” I said simply.

“Aye, I ken that. I canna feel the pain anymore but ... how?”

How indeed. How was I going to explain what I had done. I very rarely used my power and never in public on a man I barely knew. Usually I explained the procedure to the patient beforehand, preparing them for what they would see and feel. Usually they would were sent to me by Maître Raymond or Mother Hildegard. Never had I laid on hands without preparing myself. Now I needed to tell him the truth about who and what I was.

I sat up to kneel beside him, moving away from him just enough to face him. I took his hands in mine and breathed deeply. I hesitated not knowing quite where to begin. 

Sensing this, Jamie slowly raised his hand and cupped my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my earlobe. 

“Jamie, I’m not sure I can explain it in a way that you’ll believe or understand.”

“Claire, I understand that ye may tell me things I dinna grasp the meaning of but I ask ye one thing of ye. Honesty. When ye tell me something, let it be the truth and I promise ye the same. We may have secrets but no lies. Agreed?”

“Oui, agreed. I must start at the beginning.”

Jamie leaned towards the basket and retrieved two glasses. He opened the bottle and poured the ruby red liquid. He handed me a glass and reached for the other hand to hold for support as my story hesitantly trickled from my lips. As I relaxed, the trickle became a stream and then a river flowing forth the chronicle of the past twenty four years.

I told him about my childhood and the loss of my parents at the tender age of six from smallpox, being taken to the orphanage by my English uncle who disappeared soon after. The teachings of the nuns and being sent to Paris at sixteen to further my studies. 

“Jamie, I must ask you now, do you believe in magic?”

“Dearest Claire, ye ken little of the Scottish people especially the highlanders. Our lives are steeped in superstition. At our mother’s knee we hear tales of fairies, devils and waterhorses that live in the lochs. I’m an educated man but also a highlander, born and bred. I dinna believe in making light of the ways of the auld ones, of magic.”

I let out the breath that I didn’t know I was holding. I started to tell him about my studies with Maître Raymond, learning about the herbs and their properties and preparation then finally about the blue light.

There was silence for a moment, then he grabbed me tight in his arms, laughing. It was something warm in that laughter that lightened my heart.

“Och, Claire, ye wee clotheid, ye think I wouldna believe something I just saw and felt. ‘Tis said that seeing is believing, but I would’ve believed ye even had I n’er seen it. I dinna ken what ye were sae worrit about. There is just one thing.” He said earnestly. “Claire, are ye a ban-druidh, a White Lady.”

“I’ve been called La Dame Blanche by some if that is what you mean.” I answered fearfully.

“Then I’m glad of yer healing powers and grateful that ye chose tae use them on me.” he said softly.

He released me from his embrace but still held me by the shoulders. Our eyes were locked, and ever so slowly his face drew closer to mine. Our foreheads touched softly as he tucked a wayward curl behind my ear. 

“I would very much like tae kiss ye, Claire. May I?” he asked breathlessly. 

I nodded and felt his lips caress mine softly, gently then harder as his arms snaked around my back. My hands found his waist as his tongue sought entrance between my lips. He tasted warm and sweet. Slowly he leaned back, withdrawing his mouth, his gaze reaching my very soul. His fingers traced the curve of my cheek then brushed across my lower lip. My breathing steadied.

“Ye are sae lovely, mo nighean donn.” 

Now it was my turn to blush. I looked down shyly studying the lines in my hands that lay in my lap, as if I’d never seen them before.

“What does that mean?”

“It means...my brown haired lass.” He twisted a stay curl around his finger. “You’re hair reminds me of a burn, a stream, the way it ruffles down over the rocks, dark in places and lighter where the sun hits it.”

We could have stayed there all day, learning about each other but the weather had other ideas. The sun had lost itself behind a large bank of clouds that threatened to bring a storm. The earlier summer breeze grew stronger and colder.

Jamie noticed my shiver as the temperature dropped. 

“We’d best pack up and get ye to some shelter before the storm breaks.” 

We packed up the food that we’d barely touched and he shook out and folded the blanket, placing it on top of the basket. Jamie reached for my hand and we hastened back towards the Rue St Antoine, towards my home, not knowing where else to seek shelter from the oncoming deluge. The heavens opened as we ran down the street, drenching us to the skin before we could reach our destination. Thunder rumbled as I pushed open the door of my accommodation and entered, pulling Jamie in behind me.

We stood in the foyer of the building, dripping all over the tiled floor. We looked at each other, both resembling drowned rats and laughed at our mutually disheveled appearance.

He still had my hand clasped in his. I pulled him towards the stairs. A look of shock showed on his face.

“Claire, I canna go upstairs with ye. I’d ruin yer reputation.”

“My landlady will not appreciate us leaving puddles on her floor either” I replied “come and get dry. My reputation is safe with you.” I assured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your encouragement and comments.


	24. Drowned rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie get caught in the rain.

Jamie followed me up the two flights of stairs to my attic room. It was quite large, taking up the whole of the third floor, ensuring me privacy. Maître Raymond had secured it for me three years previously and it allowed space for me to practice my profession away from the hospital. I opened the door and led him in. As I retrieved towels from the armoire, Jamie took in his surroundings. 

On one side of the room were shelves holding ingredients for the preparations I made, all in carefully labeled brown glass or ceramic jars and bottles to protect them from the sunlight. In the middle of the room was my work table with drawers that held the tools of my trade. Herbs hung from racks to dry. Along the opposite wall stood my bed, toilette table and armoire. Before the hearth were two comfortable chairs with a small side table between them and under the window was a round table and chairs where I would sometimes eat. Looking out the small casement window, I could see that the rain was not about to stop anytime soon.

He took a deep breath taking in the earthy scent of the drying plants. I handed him a towel to dry himself off with. His shirt was soaked as were his breeches. He would need to take them off so they could be wrung out and dried by the fire. He was in a quandary. I could see his problem. Although as a physician I regularly saw naked men, this was different. This was Jamie. I offered him the blanket. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes and wrap yourself in this. Sorry I don’t have anything else for you to wear. I’ll just be out on the landing.”

“Aye, a guid idea then I can go out as ye change.” He said relieved, glad that a solution to this tricky situation had been reached.

I gave him a comforting smile as I left the room. As I waited on the landing, I questioned the wisdom of my actions that day. Going with him on a picnic was innocent enough but what on earth possessed me to heal him in a public place where anyone could have seen us. Being a healer was one thing, people knew about my work with herbal preparations and my skills as a surgeon but Maître Raymond and Mother Hildegard had warned me about using my powers. They were very selective about who they sent to me. Only trustworthy clients came to my room for treatment under the agreement that no one would ever speak to anyone else about what went on there. 

Witchcraft was a capital crime and although I didn’t identify as a witch, only using my powers for healing, there were those that didn’t see it as such. 

The King had only recently decreed that practitioners of the mystical arts would be rounded up and put to death. Monsieur Foret, the King’s executioner, was another of the volunteers who assisted at the Hopital. He knew of the other skills that Maître Raymond and I had and had warned us to be careful. I shuddered at the thought of what could befall us should anyone see or speak of it. As it was there were those who called me La Dame Blanche. That was enough to put me under suspicion. As I was wondering what to tell Jamie, the door opened. 

He stood in the doorway, in silhouette, the blanket fastened around his waist with his belt, kilt like, his chest bare and the towel in his hand as he squeezed the water from his hair. An Adonis.

“I’ll just wait out here, lass, as ye change.” he said shyly.

I approached the door, but due to his size and the small landing, we had to squeeze past each other. I felt his muscular chest press against my breasts as we turned around as if we were performing an intricate dance. 

“I’m sorry, Claire ‘tis no much room.” he excused himself, his face tinged with embarrassment.

I just smiled at him as I stepped into the room.

“I won’t be long.” I assured him. As I stepped into the room, I noticed his clothing neatly hung before the fire. He had wrung them out over my ewer bowl so as not to get water on the floor.

As it had been such a lovely morning, I had only dressed in a light dress and one petticoat over my shift and corset. The torrential rain had soaked me right through and my skirts clung to my legs. Stripping off my wet clothes, I stood naked in the middle of the room, wondering what Jamie would think of me in this state. Would he like my round, curvy hips or did he prefer a thinner woman? My nipples stood erect, my body still damp and cold. Shaking my head, I wondered what on earth I was thinking. He was only nineteen. I was considered past my prime, having concentrated on my profession rather than dalliances. Not that I hadn’t ever had a beau. I was just seventeen when Maurice swept me off my feet. He was thin, with a pointy nose and sharp features. He was a master of the art of flattery and the innocent that I was, believed I was in love. I allowed him to seduce me but as soon as I had given up my maidenhead, he lost interest and left Paris. 

I had resolved never to be used like this again and steered clear of any romantic entanglements. That was until now. This was different, yet here I was plunging back into something. Something I was not yet sure of but I had never been drawn to someone like I was to Jamie. We had spent less than two days together and yet? What was that spark, that energy that flowed between us?

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. 

“Claire, are ye dressed lass?”

How long had I stood there thinking? 

“Just a moment.” I called back through the door. 

Rummaging through the drawer of the armoire, I found my spare shift, threw it on and quickly wrapped a shawl around my shoulders. 

“Sorry to make you wait out there so long.” I opened the door and stood aside to let him in.

His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he looked at me. 

“Erm...Claire... should ye not be wearing something... well something more. What if someone sees ye?” He said nervously although his expression told me that he wasn’t totally adverse to what was before him.

“I’m sorry but my other dress is at the laundry. The blood soaked through my apron yesterday and I was to collect it this afternoon.” I pulled my shawl tighter around me, flustered, trying to cover up as much as I could, looking down at my bare toes as they tried to dig themselves deep into the rug.

Jamie took a step closer and laid his hand on my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, lass, if I embarrassed ye. But, Christ, Claire, you’re so beautiful.”

A glimpse into his eyes showed me the wanting that his body echoed. His other hand grasped my other shoulder and pulled me towards him. His hand slid up to the back of my head and tangled itself into my hair as his lips met mine. Breathing in his musky scent, l returned his kiss. Passionately, deeply. 

My body was pressed close to his, feeling him hard against me. As my hand ran down his sculpted chest, my fingers brushed his nipple. He sucked in his breath, moaning into my mouth. 

Slowly he drew away, his teeth nibbling gently on my bottom lip as we parted. My heart was racing. 

I stepped back from his embrace, unsure of what to do. We barely knew each other but it felt so right.

“Are you hungry?” I heard myself say. Mon Dieu, did I really just ask him that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance if this sounds lame. This is my very first amourous scene I’ve ever written so please forgive my clumsiness.
> 
> The next chapter will only get worse so please bear with me as I go through this learning curve. 
> 
> Any advice or constructive suggestions please leave them in the comments.


	25. Confessions

“Are you hungry?” I heard myself say. Mon Dieu, did I really just ask him that?

Jamie gave me a quizzical look.

“Hungry?”

“Oui, like for..food.” I answered indicating the forgotten picnic basket. “You went to so much trouble preparing it all, I would not like to see it go to waste.”

“Och...aye. We canna waste it.” he said looking like food was the last thing on his mind.

I set the table with plates and knives as he picked up the neglected basket. Together we arranged the food on the table, our hands grazing each other as we both reached into the basket. Thankfully the blanket had protected most of it from the rain although one end of the baguette was admittedly a little soggy.

We sat opposite each other at the table, not quite knowing where to start. Jamie broke the silence.

“Will ye take some wine, lass?”

“Oui, merci.” I answered, letting out the breath that I didn’t realise I was holding.

As he poured, he told me about his Cousin Jared and how he had offered to employ him in his wine business when he first came to France. Jamie, however, had decided to continue on and join his friend, Ian. Soldiering was a much more exciting prospect for a young man of his age.

We sat companionably, sharing the small feast that he had assembled, as he talked about his family. He spoke sadly about the loss of his elder brother, Willie, of smallpox when Jamie was just six years of age. Only two years ago, he had also lost his mother. Knowing the pain of such loss, I reached out and placed my hand over his. He looked at me with understanding knowing that I truly understood his sadness.

I encouraged him to continue. 

“Tell me more. Tell me about your sister.”

“Well, Claire, ye remind me a little of her. Jenny, or Janet as she was christened and what we call her if we canna get her attention otherwise, has grown to be a formidable force. ‘Twas she who kept us together, my father and I, after Mam died. She’s a practical woman, fierce as a tiger but soft as a kitten. She’s wee, only about sae high, no like my father and I.” He laughed heartily recalling a memory. “She would follow Ian and I around as we went about the woods, tracking and hunting, insisting that we teach her. We didna want to but she threatened to bedevil our suppers if we didna.”

“What do you mean, bedevil your supper?” I asked curiously, thinking that by the sound of it it would have been a good threat to a pair of growing boys.

“Well she would put wee beasties in them, like slaters.”

“What is this slater?” I assumed correctly that it was an insect of some kind.

“‘Tis a wee grey bug, about sae big. It rolls itself up into a ball when ye touch it.”

“Ah, oui, la cochenille.” I burst out in laughter at the thought of the boys in terror, thinking they would find some in their evening meal. Jamie joined me, his wry smile completely enveloping his face, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

 

The light was fading as the afternoon came to a close. I rose and lit the candles with a taper lit from the fire then returned to the table to clean up the remnants of our meal. We had finished everything but the strawberries. Jamie reached for my hand and drew me back to the chair. He picked up one of the red berries, regarding it thoughtfully while twirling it in his fingers by the stalk.

“Fraser.” He said quietly.

“Non, Jamie, fraise.” I corrected him, surprised at the simple mistake he had made in his translation.

“No, Fraser, my name. It’s Fraser, James Alexander Malcolm Mckenzie Fraser.” He articulated each name slowly, deliberately. “My ancestors were French. Monsieur Fraise, called so for his red hair. When he came to Scotland, it became Fraser. ‘Tis part of my family crest ye ken, three white strawberry blossoms on a blue shield.” As blue as his stunning eyes, I presumed.

“And the red hair continued, I see?” I smiled at the irony of the name.

“Aye.” Unconsciously his hand ran through his copper locks. “But it also came from my mother’s family. From the McKenzies. I suppose there was a good chance that one of us would inherit it. Jenny has my father’s black hair. They called him Brian Dubh. Dubh means black, ye ken. He and my mother loved each other fiercely.”

He reached across the table and offered me the sweet, juicy fruit he held between his fingers. He held it to my lips as I opened my mouth. The fresh summery flavour of it burst on my tongue. His thumb tenderly wiped my chin where a little of the juice had escaped my lips. He stood and reached toward me, both hands, palms up, inviting me. I placed my own hands lightly on his palms and his hands gently closed around mine. He lifted me to my feet as I turned to face him.

His dark blue eyes held mine as his head lowered. I raised my chin to meet him as his tongue flicked over my lips, inhaling the smell of the ripe strawberry. His hands encircled my waist as mine reached for his mane of red, entangling my fingers in his curls. Our kiss went on for what seemed an eternity, each of us taking turns nibbling lips and tongues exploring.

His hands slowly raised to shrug off the shawl from my shoulders as his lips left mine making their way down my neck and into the dip of my collarbone. I shivered with pleasure at his touch.

“Are ye cold, lass?” he murmured into my skin, his voice husky with desire.

I shook my head, breathlessly. His body radiated such heat that I felt I would never be cold as long as I was in his arms.

“Do ye want me to stop?”

“Non, mon Dieu, non.’ I gasped.

His hands moved around the front of me and stopped at the ribbon of my chemise. He looked at me seeking permission, the answer staring him in the face. Slowly he pulled the ends undoing the bow that kept the garment in place. Smoothly he pushed it from my shoulders until it puddled to the floor around my feet.

Jamie stepped back to regard me, his eyes slowly raking over my body. 

“Ah Dhia, mo luaidh, ye are magnificent.”

Embarrassed by his effusive words but unwilling to let the moment pass. I reached towards his belt.

“Now you.”

Unclasping the buckle, I let the blanket that covered him fall to the floor.  
He was beautifully made, his skin glowing gold in the candlelight. Strong, broad shoulders that topped a muscular chest, sprinkled with russet curls. His body flowed to narrow hips and long graceful legs. His feet were long and narrow. My gaze lifted to the auburn nest between his thighs. So it was true what I’d been told about the correlation between a man’s feet and his manhood.

He stepped closer and pressed himself tightly against me, his hands clasped around my buttocks. He lifted me from the floor and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bed. 

He sat with me in his lap, hard against me, his kiss bruising my lips in his passion. I shook with nervousness, suddenly remembering Maurice. He let out small moan as his lips left mine. He studied my face intently. My apprehension showed on my face. 

“Lass, Claire, are ye alright? I willna take advantage of ye if yer no ready.”

“Jamie, I’m frightened and... ashamed.” I couldn’t meet his eye. “I have only ever been with a man once before. He took my maidenhead, and left me. I never saw him again. I am soiled.” I felt disgraced and crumpled onto his shoulder, tears welling in my eyes. I wanted this to be perfect but how could he want me knowing that I was not a virgin.

Jamie looked at me with such kindness and understanding on his face that the tears flowed down my cheeks.

“Hush, mo maise, hush. I will not leave you.” He wiped a tear with his finger. “You are like a precious jewel, a diamond.” He looked into my eyes. His fingers ran comfortingly through my hair. He murmured softly in reassurance. 

“No. Not diamond. Topaz, with your eyes the colour of fine whiskey and your hair all different shades of brown. Mo nighean donn, my brown haired lass.”

“But...”

“But nought, dinna fash lass. I am no a virgin either. Just after my Mam died, twa of my friends, Rupert and Angus, got me terribly drunk and took me to a brothel. I’m ashamed to say that I was so drunk that I remember nothing about that night only that I woke the next morning with a searing hangover and smelled awfully of cheap perfume. ‘Twas not my proudest moment, lass. I vowed then that I would n’er take a lass again so. I would only lie with a woman I loved.”

“A woman you love? But what are you saying, how can you love me? We only met yesterday.” I couldn’t believe that he could feel that way about me even though I knew that there was a connection between us that was getting stronger by the moment.

“My father once told me that I would know the woman I would love the first time I saw her and he was right. Yesterday at the Hopital, when ye first touched me, I knew. It was like a spark passed between us, lighting a fire in my heart.”

“Oui I felt it too.” I laid my hand on his chest over his heart. “and again this afternoon.”

“Tha gaol agam ort, mo muirninn. I will love you forever.” He proclaimed covering my hand with his. I could feel the quickening beating of his heart beneath my palm.

“Je t’aime aussi, mon coeur. For eternity.” 

Our declarations were sealed with a kiss, tentatively as a first kiss filled with hope. Jamie stroked my cheek, removing the vestiges of my tears. He kissed my forehead then my eyes and trailed his lips back to mine to capture them with a rising passion. I felt him rise between my legs and drew back off his lap. His disappointment showed on his face then changed as I crawled onto the bed, my arm outstretched, beckoning him to join me.

“Come, mon cher, come. Je suis Prest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have left kudos and wonderful comments.


	26. To love you is to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a sex scene. (To be perfectly honest that’s pretty much all it is but we all knew it was coming so should be no surprise to anyone) Feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing.

“Come, mon cher, come. Je suis pret.”

Jamie climbed up on the bed and lay beside me, our bodies a handspan apart, unsure of what to do next. We looked at each other shyly and smiled, a nervous giggle rose from my lips.

“So here we are.”Jamie said.

“Oui, here we are. I...I’m not..I’m not sure what to do.”

“I ken that this is not the first time for either of us but I understand yer nervousness. I’m petrified myself, not really remembering mine. A first time can be vexing. Perhaps...perhaps it would be easier if we touched.” His hand reached my shoulder and with the back of his fingers trailed it lightly down my arm. Shivers ran down my spine.

I echoed his movements feeling his strong muscles.

Next he cupped my breast, his thumb grazing my nipple. It rose to meet his touch and a groan escaped my lips as he traced under my breast and held it as if weighing it. He rose up on his elbow, looking down on me. I reached up and placed my palms slowly down across his chest, feeling the springy hair and the soft indentations around his nipples. He moaned as I looked surprised. I had no idea that a man’s nipples were so sensitive. I rolled one between my finger and thumb and heard his moan grow louder and lower.

My hand moved toward his head pulling him down to me, wanting his lips. He closed the gap between us, his breathing shallow as we pressed ourselves together feeling every part of each other down the length of our bodies. Our lips met again, resuming the passion we had felt earlier, our hands exploring, learning the contours of the others limbs. I felt him getting harder against me as he pushed against my mound, the wetness between my thighs making me slick.

“Claire, I must have ye. Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether, if ye wish. Anytime until we are joined. I dinna think I can stop after that.”

“Will it be painful? It was...the last time.”

“I think not lass. Not now that ye’ve already been opened and not if I take my time.”

His hand slid down across my stomach and rested over my slippery crease, his long middle finger entered me extracting a groan from deep within me. My back arched voluntarily as my hips rose to meet him, inviting more. He added another, curling them gently in a come hither motion, his thumb resting on the small nub above my entrance. He began to trace circles around it ever slightly increasing the pressure then slid over it. I squirmed as the heat rose in my belly. I needed more.

“Take me, Jamie, please.” I begged. My eyes meeting his, blazing with want.

As his fingers withdrew, they were replaced by his manhood, now hard as a rod of iron, very slowly and carefully burying itself inside me, stretching my walls as he went. He panted, trying to restrain himself from plunging in too quickly.

I needed him. Now. My hands grabbed his hips, pulling him down deep within my tight tunnel, crying out with pain but welcoming it as he filled me completely, his balls pressed against me.

He drew back at once startled and apologetic, a look of concern crossed his face.

“Ah Dhia, mo luaidh, Claire, I’m sorry. Did I hurt ye?”

“Just a little but Jamie, don’t stop,” I begged desperately. “not now. I need you.”

He kissed me, hard, teeth grinding into lips as his hips began to move, the friction slowly building to a searing heat as he thrust harder and harder. I met him each time, wanting him deeper. Our need for completion instinctively became urgent as we ground furiously against each other. Then I felt it, the contracting of my inner walls around him as I crested the wave. He exploded, flooding me with his essence as we cried out together. Our breathing was ragged as we fought to refill our lungs. The pulsating slowed as we lay still joined, sated, his weight upon me. I moved beneath him trying to get more comfortable when he rolled to lay beside me. I groaned feeling him leave me empty.

“I’m sorry Claire. I dinna mean tae crush you, you’re just so small.”

“It’s fine Jamie, I’m fine, it was...”

“Fine?” He answered, one eyebrow cocked.

“Non, ma cher, it was much more than...fine. I never thought it could be like that. Thank you.” My fingers travelled down his arm to take his hand. I brought it to my mouth and kissed his palm, his thumb and then his wrist, mouthing it softly and running my tongue over his pulse. He pulled me towards him as I shivered. 

“Yer as cold as ice, Claire, let us get under the covers and I’ll warm ye.” We both tried to pull the bedclothes back but as we were lying on them, we just ended up tangled. We laughed at each other as we saw the ridiculousness of our situation. Jamie got off the bed and offered me his hand. As soon as my feet touched the floor, he had the covers flung back and lifted me up into his arms and gently placed me on the crisp linen sheet. He crawled in beside me and covered us carefully tucking the blanket around my shoulders and under my chin as he rolled me to my side and pressed himself to my back, his arms folding themselves around me. Warmth radiated from his body as he nestled his face in my hair.

“You are exquisite, mo nighean donn.” he whispered, his breath on my neck. 

I sighed contently, snuggling closer to him as I felt him relax completely, his breathing slow and steady lulling us both to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been the hardest (if you’ll excuse the pun) chapter to write so far.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your encouragement especially mizzmo22.


	27. An exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie explore one another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter is definitely NSFW.

I woke in the early hours of the morning, needing to relieve myself. I slipped out of the bed to use the chamber pot and blow out the candles that had almost burnt down to stubs. I scurried back to the warmth of my bed. The rain had stopped and the full moon shone through the window. I rested on one elbow and watched Jamie as the soft light fell on his face. His lashes were long and thick, dark auburn at the tips. They were very light, almost blond at the roots. 

The firm line of his mouth had relaxed in sleep. While it kept a faintly humorous curl at the corner, his lower lip now eased into a fuller curve that seemed both sensual and innocent.

Mon Dieu, he was mesmerising. 

He lay at ease, sprawled on his stomach, the blanket kicked off, his internal furnace keeping him warm. Tiny soft hairs crested his spine, running down to the reddish-gold fuzz that dusted his buttocks and thighs, and deepened into the thicket of soft auburn curls that showed briefly between his spread legs.

I sat up, admiring the long legs, with the smooth line of muscling that indented the thigh from hip to knee, and another that ran from knee to long, elegant foot. My fingers ached, wanting to trace the line of his small, enticing ear and the blunt angle of his jaw. I reached out and gently touched him. My touch was soft, barely grazing his skin, tracing the whorls of his ear. He rolled over onto his back, arm waving in his sleep as if to swat at a fly. He settled again and his breathing resumed it’s normal rhythm.

I smiled to myself. I leaned over to assault his other ear, this time with my mouth. The tip of my tongue made contact leaving a moist trail from tip to lobe. I softly blew over it, rewarded by the slightest shiver from Jamie. I became more bold, teeth nibbled at his neck, over his adam’s apple to a small triangular scar at his throat. I felt rather than heard the rumble of a moan from his throat on my lips. Glancing up, I noticed Jamie’s eye were still closed but the curl of his lips seemed wider than before. 

I ventured lower, remembering his reaction to the touching of his nipples earlier. How would they feel in my mouth? I hovered over one, daring myself. I settled my cheek against his chest, as I cautiously flicked it with my tongue. His breath hitched becoming a blissful groan as I took it between my teeth, nibbling and sucking. I knew he was now awake but continued my ministrations in silence. The other nipple was my next prize requiring a shift in position as I leaned across his chest that was now rising and falling at a much more rapid rate. It was given the same treatment as the first, before I made my way even lower. 

A satisfied hum emanated from Jamie, resonating through his chest as I followed the trail of russet down towards navel. I licked my finger, running it round and round his umbilicus. 

His stiffening membre viril, caught my eye. I remembered a conversation that I had with Madame Jean, the owner of a local brothel who had brought one of the ladies to the Hopital for treatment. Was I brave enough to try it? Would he like it? Throwing caution to the wind I proceeded.

I carefully moved to the end of the bed and knelt between his thighs. I took a steadying breath hoping to please him. My hand enclosed him as he gasped.

“Christ, Claire! What in God’s name are you doing?”

I continued my silence, knowing that if I didn’t do it now I would lose my nerve. My hand moved up his shaft as I took him with my mouth. The tendons stood out in his forearms as he pressed his palms against the mattress, the sheet entwined in his fingers.

I kept on until he could bear no more. He pulled me up and in one movement I found myself beneath him as he sheathed himself inside me.

He cried out, invoking God and not a few saints as I shuddered in ecstasy, my own cries of pleasure echoing his.

We lay together in a rosy glow as his gaze lingered on me, a small crease on his brow.

“Lass, I ken ye said ye’d only been bedded the once but how...?”

“How did I know how to do that?” I said finishing his sentence. I told him about Madame Jean. “I thought you may like it. She said most men do.” Flustered, I worried I’d done the wrong thing, that he’d think me no more than a common whore. “I’m sorry Jamie. It was wrong of me, I don’t deserve a good man like you.” I gushed, hating myself for taking the word of a madam. 

I rolled away from him, tears beginning to flow into my pillow.

He pulled me back towards him enfolding me in his arms. He lifted my chin up as he kissed away my tears.

“No, Claire, no. It was... I felt...I felt like my heart was going to burst. Ye’ve done nothing wrong, my love. Nothing. I just never knew a woman would do that. Well, I’d heard about it from the lads but I thought... I thought it was all talk. My God, Claire that you would do that for me...”

He pulled me closer and holding my face close, peppered it with kisses, forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, chin. Everywhere but my lips. His hands roamed down my back, settling on my derrière, kneading my cheeks as a baker kneads dough.

“Have I told you how much I love your fine, round arse?” A chuckle came from his lips that were now returning the assault I had made to his ears. He nibbled my earlobe making my body quiver like a jelly. I made to turn my face to him but he stopped me, holding my ear firmly between his teeth.

“Fair’s fair, Claire. Now it’s your turn. Lie still, don’t move.” He pushed me back so that I was laying flat against the mattress.

No, surely not, I thought to myself. Madame Jean has not mentioned anything like what I suspected Jamie had in mind. I needed to wash, feeling sticky, the combination of our fluids trickling on the sheets.

“Jamie, you can’t, at least...” his finger shushed my lips.

His lips traveled the same route I had taken earlier, exploring over neck, throat and down to my breast. His tongue flicked my nipple, feather soft then sucked it between his lips, as an oyster, fresh from the sea, being sucked from its shell. His hands pushed my breasts together, twin peaks, as he attended to each one in turn, his lips climbing each until he reached the summit, extracting a sound from me that I was sure I had never before uttered.

He descended to my breast bone and headed south, mapping my flat stomach and encamping at my navel. His breath was like a summery breeze, warm and soft causing me to clench my muscles in delight. His fingers burrowed themselves in the forest they had discovered, as his thumb once again found it’s mark. A tremor coursed down my legs curling my toes as a squeak escaped my lips.

His lips arrived at their destination, his hands on my thighs spreading them apart. His flattened tongue was rough on my nether lips, as it probed and tunnelled inside me. His unshaven whiskers rasped against my inner thighs, coarse as sandpaper but thrilling causing me to clamp them around his head. My stomach was roiling like a whirlpool with the sensation.

I could hardly breath, the tingling growing stronger and stronger in my womb until I could hold it no longer.

“JAMIE.” I screamed as I lost myself, as I felt a volcano erupt within me. His hands held my hips as the aftershocks gradually subsided.

He’s lips found their way home to mine, sharing our juices mingled on his tongue as we kissed.  
My breath finally resumed its normal pace. He held me tight to him, murmuring in Gaelic into my hair, words of love that I didn’t know but understood.

I had no words to tell him how I felt but I knew he could feel the same love from me, a never ending love to take us on our life’s journey.

Always.


	28. A parting

I woke, a pair of cornflower cats eyes looking down at me. The day was just dawning, the darkness surrendered to the pale blue of day.

“Good morning, mo chridhe.” He said, his voice husky and low, as he bent to kiss me. 

“Bonjour, mon chat.” Yes that was what he reminded me of, his body lean yet muscular, his rufous mane, reminiscent of a lion and those eyes.

I stretched languidly, feeling tightness in muscles I didn’t realise I had. His smile radiant as the sun.

“Did you sleep well, mon amour?” I asked, flashing him a cheeky smile.

His eyebrow cocked.

“Aye, when I didna have yer hands and lips wandering all o’er me.” He grabbed my knee, tickling it until I squealed. 

He let go of my knee, his hand running over my stomach as he pulled me to him.

“Ye have the most beautiful skin, lass. Transparent as a pearl and as soft as velvet.” He whispered.

We snuggled up close, nestled together like a pair of spoons in a drawer knowing that we would soon have to get up and fulfill our commitments, me at the Hopital and Jamie would need to return to the barracks to await new orders.

A soft knock on the door was followed by the voice of my landlady, asking if I was wanting breakfast this morning. I thanked her for her kindness but declined.

“Do ye think she heard us last night, lass?” He asked with the crease returning to his forehead. “I dinna want to make trouble for ye, being here.”

“Madame Louise, will not mind Cheri, she too has a lover.” I answered him reassuringly. “But now, mon cher, we must get up. Mother Hildegard will not be happy if I am late.”

Our clothes had dried overnight and it was time to wash and dress. Jamie brushed and arranged my tousled mop and I tied his back with a new ribbon, having lost his somewhere in my room. Despite refusing breakfast, we were both hungry so once we were again respectable, we made our way into the street to a bakery a little way down the street for fresh rolls, which we munched on the way to Le Hopital. 

Jamie kissed me as we stood on the steps of the church, promising to be there to collect me at the end of the day.

“Au revoir, mon amour. Until then.” 

I watched him as he walked away, towards his barracks.

I ran joyfully up the stairs to begin my day, tending the patients. The nuns looked at me indulgently, small smiles lighting their faces. Mother Hildegard, however, made no concessions and sent me to resume my usual duties, attending to the sick and injured.

At the end of the day, Jamie, as promised, stood waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. I ran into his arms, glad of his embrace. 

We fell into a comfortable routine for the next two months, supper together at our favourite tavern sometimes dining with his friend, Ian, nights of love and passion, breakfast at the bakery then off to our respective occupations during the day. Me to my patients and Jamie to his training with the French army. Our love grew deeper with each passing day as we made plans for the future.

We would take rides out in the countryside on his stallion, Donas, Jamie holding me in front of him as we looked for a place we could be alone or picnic in the many parks in Paris spending each possible moment together.

Then came the day we had both dreaded.

He had met me at the church as usual but I knew that there was something wrong despite his smile. Today he wore his uniform.

“I have my orders.” he said grimly. “Silesia.”

“When?” I asked 

“We ride out at dawn.”

He took my hand in his and instead of taking me to the tavern, we went straight to my room, each absorbed in our own thoughts, our hearts heavy.

As Jamie closed the door behind us, I succumbed to the tears that had been welling in my eyes. His warm arms enfolded me, each of us seeking to find and give comfort. We made our way to the bed, divesting each other of our clothes on the way.

We found our way to each other, taking each other passionately, fiercely. Over and over again until we were exhausted. We talked, laughing as we remembered funny little things that had happened then wept in each other’s arms in anticipation of our parting until the stars began to fade.

Jamie rose from the bed and put on his uniform. It was time.

“Non, non, Jamie. You can not leave me. You promised.”

“Oh mo chridhe, I dinna want to go but I am a soldier, ‘tis my duty. We knew this day would come.” he said, kissing away my tears. “I will write to you as often as I can.”

I did know but in the time we had been together, it was something we had avoided thinking or talking about. Now it was reality. The possibility that he could be injured or even killed in the conflict tore my heart apart. He could see the pain in my face.

It was time. His friend, Ian was there in the street on his horse holding Donas, waiting for Jamie.

I walked downstairs with him to the door. I resolved not to cry as he took me once more in his arms and kissed me as if to fill me with his love until he could hold me once more.

“I love you Claire, never forget that.”

“Come back to me, James Fraser.”

“ I will return to you, mo maise, in this life or the next.”

“On your horse, soldier.” I replied stoically.

He mounted, reaching once more for my hand. He placed a kiss on my palm then wrapped my fingers around it. Then he turned his horses head towards the barracks, and with just one backwards glance, rode off to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay and the short chapter.
> 
> Back to work this week so limited time to write.


	29. Dark days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is alone and vulnerable without Jamie. Dark days are to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is chock full of angst. Sorry.

I was broken hearted. 

From the time Jamie rode away to war, my life and I fell apart. 

I started feeling ill. Vomiting and nausea, my constant companions. I tried my usual remedies to no avail. Mother Hildegard noticed and called me to her chambers. 

“My dear, you have been ill for a few weeks now. When did you last have your courses?”

No, it can’t be, I said to myself, knowing in my heart of hearts that it was true. How could I not have noticed? I was pregnant. I had not bled since I met Jamie. I was carrying his child. My mind was in turmoil, thrilled that I had a part of him with me but how could I do this alone. I knew that Jamie would be away for months, maybe longer. I prayed constantly for his safety. I needed to tell him of my pregnancy but I didn’t know where he was. How was I to get word to him? The barracks! Of course! 

That night I sat at my table with paper and quill. I poured my heart out to him, telling him of our child, of how I loved and missed him. I begged him to take care and come home safely to me, sealing the letter with a kiss.

The next morning I delivered it to an officer at the barracks. He told me that he would try to get it to him but the chances were slim. The army was constantly on the move and as a mercenary, Jamie could be anywhere. I just had to hope that it would find him.

I yearned for news from him, each day waiting for a promised letter, each day disappointed. Reports from Poland were grim, thousands upon thousands dead or injured. Each day my hope was fading for Jamie’s return. 

To keep some sort of routine and to save my sanity, I continued my work, at my rooms, at the apothecary and at the Hopital. From early in the morning until late at night I threw myself into my work as my child grew bigger in my belly.

One afternoon, Maître Raymond and I were tending patients at Hopital. He took me aside.

“Claire, Monsieur Foret has just told me that the King’s men are rounding up practitioners of the mystical arts. I must flee the city and I advise you to do the same.”

“But Maître Raymond, I am just a healer. Surely they would not be interested in me. I will be fine. Besides, I have the sanctuary of the church.”

“Mon Cheri, I implore you to flee. I leave the city tonight. Meet me at the apothecary this evening. I will wait until 7 o’clock then I must go.” Not waiting for an answer, he left.

Should I leave? Where would I go? How would Jamie find me if I left the city? No I would stay.

I continued my work, questions whirling in my head. My head began to throb, the nausea returning making me feel dizzy. I sat down on a stool my head between my knees. I felt a cold cloth on the back of my neck.

“My dear child, you are working yourself to exhaustion. It is not good for you or the child. Go home ma cher and rest. I will send a sister to check on you later.”

Perhaps that was what I needed. Rest. My child was heavy in my womb. Only three more months to go and then I would be a mother. Mother Hildegard had promised me that the sisters would help me by looking after the child at the orphanage next to the church each day while I helped at the Hopital.

Yes, I would go home to rest. I thanked the Reverend Mother and made my way home.

I opened the front door, looking forward to laying down on my bed when my arms were seized from behind. 

“Claire Beauchamp, in the Kings name you are under arrest for the crime of sorcery. You are to accompany us to the Bastille to await trial.” announced a Kings officer who stood before me as two others held my arms.

“Non, let me go. I have done nothing wrong. I am a healer. I work at L’Hopital des Anges with Mother Hildegard.” I screamed at them, struggling with all my strength. I kicked at them but in my weakened state I was no match for them. My hands were tied before me and I was dragged through the street to a waiting tumbril, into which I was bundled, my head striking the wooden side, hard, so hard I was knocked out.

When I awoke, I was on the floor of a cell, imprisoned. My head throbbed as I took in my surroundings. A mattress of sacking and straw on one side and a bucket in the corner. A small barred window high in the wall let a little light and fresh air into the damp, dark hole that I now occupied.

Confusion filled my brain, trying to piece together what had happened. I slowly remembered the rough hands grabbing my arms and throwing me into the cart. 

Sorcery. That is what they said. This is what Maître Raymond had warned me about. Flee he had said but even if I had left when he said, I suspected that the soldiers would have been waiting for me. 

Sorcery. I was no sorceress, I was a healer but what if... the blue light...what if someone had seen me with Jamie at the park or had someone else who had come to my room betrayed me. I had been called La Dame Blanche but had ignored the title. Enough people had heard me called that but I had laughed it off. It was absurd but was it enough to warrant my incarceration? What if they found me guilty? What of the child that even now kicked in my belly? 

I had heard whispers of executions of those involved in the occult. Recently the Comte St Germaine had been put to death. Monsieur Foret, the King’s executioner, was a physician at at the Hopital and had mentioned it. Was he warning me?

I was left to languish in my cell for two weeks. The gaolers, tight lipped when they brought me bread and water each day. I pleaded with them to get word to Mother Hildegard of my whereabouts. No one knew what had happened to me. It must have looked like I had vanished into thin air. 

At the beginning of the third week, the cell door opened. A couple of guards stood at the door, along with Mother Hildegard who carried a basket with food and fresh clothing. I collapsed into her strong arms. The guards set down a couple of stools that stood in the corridor and left, locking the door behind them.

“Oh, my child, we despaired for you. Monsieur Foret discovered yesterday that you were here and came to me immediately.”

“Mother, I’m so glad to see you. Please... help me.”

“My dear, I will do what I can but I don’t believe that I can be of much assistance. Your hearing is this afternoon. It does not look good. The King is determined to rid Paris of all heretics and occultists. He wants blood, my dear, and I have no idea how to help you.”

“But, Mother, you know that I am neither. All I have ever done is help people.”

“I have spoken with his Majesty. As you know I was the goddaughter of the old Sun King and as such I have an entree into the palace but Louis is unmovable.”

“So I’m condemned before I am even convicted. How did this happen, Mother? Who spoke against me?”

“I do not know, my child.” She said sadly.

“What about Maître Raymond? Has he been imprisoned too?” I worried about my friend and mentor.

“Maître Raymond managed to escape but left behind damning evidence. He would not have done so intentionally but there are documents with your name on them. You will be tried as his associate. The examiners are angry that he escaped. I suspect that you will bear the brunt of that anger.”

“So I have no chance, I am to die.” I cried. “But what of my child?”

“If convicted, you will be allowed to bear your child as he is an innocent. The sentence will be carried out after you have given birth.”

“But Mother, what will become of it? Who will raise my child?”

“I will consider this and make some queries. I must leave now Cheri, I shall be there this afternoon for support.” She wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. “The sisters and I will pray for you and your child.” 

The key rattled in the lock as the guards unlocked the door. They had brought a bucket of water and a cloth most likely at the behest of the Reverend Mother. 

“Bathe and eat, Claire. You need your strength. If not for yourself then for your child. I will be there this afternoon.” With that she kissed my cheek and left my cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: a tumbril is a wagon used to transport prisoners from one place to another. Used extensively throughout the French Revolution for taking prisoners to the gallows or the guillotine.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading and your comments and encouragement.


	30. Convicted

The water was icy cold but the chance to rid myself of two weeks of grime and stench was welcome. I stripped off my clothes and cast them aside. The frigid water caused me to shiver so much that my teeth rattled but I was soon in clean clothing. Mother Hildegard had sent a sister to my room to gather my own clothes and had thoughtfully secreted some of my fragrant oils in the pocket of my skirts. I dabbed the lavender oil on my temples to ward off the headache I could feel developing. She had also included my brush and hair ribbon. My hair had become matted , resembling a rats nest. 

An assortment of food lay in the bottom of the basket, fruit, cheese and fresh bread. I knew I had to eat but my stomach roiled at the thought of eating and brought back up the small amount of bread I had swallowed.

I had but two hours until I was due to face my accusers. I was determined to face them with all the dignity and grace that I could muster so set about taming my curls. The feeling of the brush through my hair was comforting and calmed me slightly.

I’d been feeling abandoned until the Mother’s visit. Now that feeling turned to dread. Any hope for release had been dashed. What damning evidence had the examiners procured? She’d told me of documents at the apothecary. These would most likely be recipes for medicines that I prepared for patients or my records of clients and the items dispensed. However she also mentioned that associates of practitioners of the dark arts were being seized. 

I wondered about the strange symbols that circled the ceiling in the apothecary. Someone had once mentioned that they were Kabbalist symbols or runes. I knew nothing of their meaning but Maître Raymond definitely did. I also wondered about some of the mysterious items in his special room. Was he just a collector of unusual things or did they play a part in rituals?

Where had he gone to? Would I ever see him again? I was glad that he had escaped but he was the only one who could have spoken in my defence. 

Time was up. The gaoler’s key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. My hands were bound as I was lead to the back gate and again thrust into a tumbril, albeit a little more gently than the previous occasion. Where were they taking me?

As we traveled along the Rue de Sully, I saw our destination, the Royal Arsenal. My heart sank. I knew now that I was to be tried in La Chambre Ardente, the lighted chamber. It’s name was whispered in the streets. The court of the inquisitorial tribunal. A place of horrors, torture and death. 

I was escorted into the chamber. It was lit by torches with no natural light, a long, high bench ran around one side of the room. Thirteen men sat in the shadows as if ashamed, the inquisitors. I was directed to a stool in the middle of the room. 

One of the men stood up to address me.

“Claire Beauchamp, you stand accused before this court, of the crimes of sorcery and heresy. Do you confess to these charges?”

“No, I am innocent. I am a healer, nothing more.” I pleaded. That was about all I was permitted to say for the next two hours. 

For the next two hours, I was bombarded by slanderous accusations, made by people I had never met. Documents that had been seized from Maître Raymond’s shop were read and the meanings distorted, recipes for elixirs, tinctures and the like, were presented as potions purported to do everything from poisoning to turning the subject into a pigeon. 

I was accused of being an associate of Maître Raymond, participating in Black Masses, telling fortunes and any number of things. 

“I am innocent, I have done nothing.” I screamed at them.  
The court recessed until the following day. 

I assumed that I would be taken back to my cell at the Bastille but I was sadly mistaken. This was no recess, this was time for torture. For the next four hours despicable things were done to me, hot needles pierced my skin, copious amounts of water poured down my throat along with other means to extract a confession and make me repent of my sins. I refused to confess to something I had never done. The gaoler said to me that I was lucky I was with child or a lot worse would happen to me. 

Lucky? I couldn’t fathom what would be worse. I just wanted to die there and then but for the child in my womb. His child, Jamie’s. I screamed his name during the worst, knowing that he had no idea of my predicament. I wanted him to save me, to take me in his strong and loving arms, to whisper into my ear those sweet words of love.

I was dragged back to my cell at the Bastille to find Mother Hildegard and another sister waiting to tend to me. She had been turned away from the Royal Arsenal when she had asked for permission to speak on my behalf at the tribunal. She had then begged the warden of the Bastille to allow her to treat me, to consider the unborn child and being a devout Christian man he had acquiesced.

The sisters laid me down on the straw mattress, bathed my wounds and applied sweet oils. Mother Hildegard was concerned about the health of my baby and put her ear to my belly.

“I hear a very strong heartbeat, mon Cher. This child is a fighter.” As if to confirm her words, my baby turned in my belly and kicked hard.

“Mother, what is to become of me, of us?” I sobbed.

“ The sisters and I have been praying and will continue to pray for a miracle but I must be honest with you, Claire. There is little hope, my dear. You will be spared until your child is born then...”

“Then ...”

“We must wait to see your fate tomorrow. In the meantime we will continue to pray fervently.  
Now you must eat, child. You must keep your strength up.”

I nibbled a little bread and cheese and willed it to stay down. 

“We must leave you now, Cherie. We shall return tomorrow.”

Both of them hugged and kissed me goodbye as the gaoler opened the door to escort them out. I was left to anticipate my future and that of my baby. I held my belly tight.

“I will make sure that you are looked after, my little one. I promise you that.”

As happy as my time in the orphanage had been as a child, I wanted more for my own baby. If anyone heard of my trial, he or she would always be known as the child of a sorceress. I wracked my brain for options. I considered asking the Reverend Mother to contact Jamie’s family but what did I know of them or they of me. If Jamie was killed in battle, who would acknowledge his child when they most likely had never heard of me. My Uncle’s family was from Oxfordshire in England. Perhaps they would take my baby in. Yes. I would ask Mother Hildegard to write to them as soon as possible. 

I tried to sleep, but the pain inflicted on my body and nightmares of what was to come made sleep elusive. 

Gradually light made it’s way through the small window and I prepared myself for the fate I knew awaited me.

The gaoler removed me from my cell mid-morning and we traveled a now familiar path. I was now resigned to my fate. 

“Claire Beauchamp, you have been given the opportunity to confess your crimes. You have refused therefore, due to the overwhelming evidence against you, this court finds you guilty of sorcery. You shall be tied to a stake and burned until you’re ashes are blown to the four winds. This sentence shall be carried out as soon as you are delivered so as to preserve the innocence of your child. You will remain at the Bastille until then.”

So that was it. No hope for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and your comments.
> 
>  
> 
> La Chambre Ardente or “The lighted chamber” was a darkened court. Before the revolution, certain offences were tried in a court in which daylight was excluded and the only light admitted was by torches. It had been convened for the trial of heretics who had been arraigned by examination by the inquisitorial tribunal. There are conflicting dates as to it’s abolition: some sources say 1682 where others say 1716. For the purpose of my story I am extending its lifespan into the 1740’s.
> 
> I have minimised the particulars of the torture that Claire would have been subjected to as I have no wish to write graphically violent scenes. Needless to say they would have been horrendous. Anyone who is interested can just google torture methods in France in the 18th century.


	31. A conflagration

For two months I sat rotting in my cell, my belly swelling larger and larger, my body growing thinner and thinner. I spoke to my child constantly of the love of it’s father. It was the only thing that kept me sane. The memories of our fleeting time together and the hope that he was safe. The slim chance that he had survived the carnage of Silesia and made his way back to Paris. That he would seek me out at the Hopital and finding out what had happened to me, would somehow rescue me or at least claim his child.

Mother Hildegard had visited me intermittently, whenever the guards allowed it. She had written to my Uncle’s family on my behalf and appraised them of the situation. They had agreed to accept my child as their own. It set my mind at ease to know that our baby would be safe and loved but made the pain of our imminent separation unbearable.

The day came when my pains began. The gaoler sent for Mother Hildegard. The labour was long and fraught with sorrow but finally my child emerged. His lusty, strong lungs let out a bellow of indignation as we were separated. The same sound his father made when he was created.

I was numb. Thankful for my healthy child but knowing that this was the beginning of the end. 

Mother Hildegard wrapped him in the towel she had brought and put him to my breast. He had his father’s eyes. Deep blue and slightly slanted but my brown curls. I crooned to him, spilling all my love into his heart as he suckled. My heart ached as I succumbed to my sorrow and heartbreak. Mother Hildegard softly spoke.

“My child, I must take him soon. What is it that you wish to name him?”

“William James.” I replied. Jamie would like that. Named after his beloved brother.

The sound of the key in the lock was my death knell. The guards stood in the doorway giving us one last moment together.

“My darling son, know that we love you. Be strong, mon couer, grow to be like him, like your father, strong and brave.” I said through my tears.

With a nod from the guards, Mother Hildegard reached for him, a look of sadness in her eyes.

“It is time, Claire.” 

I knew I had no choice. I held him tight to my breast and kissed his tiny cheek.

“Goodbye my love, my son. I will always watch over you.” I passed my beloved son to the one person I trusted to see him safe, as I asked for her blessing. Her hand rested on my head.

“Dominus vobiscum et cum spiritu tuo. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti.”

I kissed her in thanks then turned to face my fate.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Claire? Claire! Wake up, mo chridhe. Come back.” 

His voice reached me through the fog that filled my mind. Jamie?

It took all the strength I could muster to open my eyes only to find myself at Lallybroch, Mac, not Jamie, sitting beside me, holding tight to my hand.

“Taing do Dhia, you’re awake, lass.” He turned towards the door. “Geillis, Jenny ,” he called urgently, “fetch the Professor and Raymond. She’s back.”

I felt as weak as a kitten and had a raging thirst. My body hurt as though I’d been run over by a train.

“Water.” I croaked, my throat struggling to make a sound.

Mac helped me to sit up and held a glass to my parched lips.

“Slowly, Claire. Just sip. You’ll be fine now. It’s over.” He reassured me.

His words puzzled me for a moment as I tried to remember what it was that was now over. Then as my mind cleared, I remembered. I felt empty, devoid of all feeling.

“I...She died, didn’t she.” I said simply watching Mac’s eyes well up with tears of confirmation.

“Aye, lass. She did.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks in sympathy for the strong loving woman and mother that she...or was it I had been. My heart ached for her child who had never known her love, my love. The longing for a lover who had been stolen from her by a war he should never have gone to. Christ! I was so confused. Mac reached for me but stopped as he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

The door opened to admit Geillis, Uncle Lamb, Jenny and Master Raymond. Mac stepped away from the bedside as Uncle Lamb took me in his arms. I felt the wetness of his tears run down my neck as he trembled.

“I’m so sorry, chick. We should never have put you through this. I was so afraid you’d not come back to us, that you’d be lost to us forever. The last two days have been hell.”

“Two days? What do mean?” Something had happened, something serious.

Master Raymond stepped towards the bed. 

“I’m sorry Madonna. This has never happened before.”

“What, what hasn’t happened before. For God’s sake, will someone please tell me.” I panicked, “what the hell happened?”

“I have done many regressions in the past,” Master Raymond explained, “They have been a tool for healing. People face what has happened to them before and it aids them to conquer fears and solve problems in their current life. But usually it lasts an hour maybe two. Never has it lasted so long. Usually they come back when I call them. You...you were beyond my reach. I’m so sorry Claire.” I saw apology and fear in his eyes.

I raised myself slowly up the bed. It was then I saw my arms. They were red as if scalded and covered in sores as if ... no it wasn’t possible. 

“I don’t understand. How...?” I indicated to my arms. I suspected that the pain over the rest of my body was due to the same condition. 

“I have never seen a manifestation such as this. It is as if you actually relived it again.” Master Raymond explained. 

“Please start from the beginning,” I asked desperately. “I need to know exactly what happened to me.”

Master Raymond looked around the room at the others. Jenny and Geillis excused themselves, Jenny to prepare something for me to eat and Geillis to fetch salves to soothe my skin. Raymond looked at Mac.

“Perhaps you have somewhere else to be.” He suggested.

“No, I’m staying.” He said defiantly from across the room. Mac stood by the hearth, gazing into the fire. For some reason I felt a comfort in knowing he was there. 

“Very well then.”

Master Raymond went on to explain how as was his usual practice, he had had me relax until I had fallen into a trance-like state. Again as usual, I had started talking about what was happening to my previous incarnation, the other Claire. Uncle Lamb took notes of what I had said and things went along as planned. That was until my hands glowed with the blue light. Master Raymond then felt a shift in the depth of my consciousness. He had tried to wake me as he usually did but I would not wake. He tried various other methods but I was beyond reach. Geillis, Jenny, Raymond and Uncle Lamb had taken turns to stay with me day and night in case I woke. 

“You experienced this life more vividly than any I have ever seen before. Sometimes a subject may twitch or their legs may move slightly as if they are running but never have I seen physical evidence of experiences such as yours. You feel emotions much more keenly and expressed yourself more physically than I have ever seen before.”

As he had been speaking, memories had flooded back. I flushed at the thought of Claire and Jamie making love passionately. 

Seeing my face, Raymond allowed himself a small smile. 

“Yes Madonna that too.” He continued, his expression regaining it’s sober countenance. “We also witnessed the more disturbing parts of your story.” He looked at my arms. “I cannot explain why her wounds became yours.”

“So what brought me back.” In my heart I knew the answer. 

“I did.” came the voice from by the fireplace.


	32. The Prophecy explained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very confusing time for poor Claire

“So what brought me back.” In my heart I knew the answer.

“I did.” came the voice from by the fireplace. Mac turned to look at us. “I kent it had to be me.” 

He made his way to my side and took my hand. Immediately that energy flowed between us. 

“Ye feel it do ye not.” It was a statement of fact not a question. “‘Twas this, this connection between us that woke ye Lass.” He looked to the other men by my bedside. “If ye dinna tell her then I will. ‘Tis time she kent it all.”

“Oui, but she must be healed first. She must be strong. I have never used the blue light on another with the power. It may not work but I will try.” He looked nervous, vulnerable even. 

“Aye, but I willna leave her.” He looked at me as he held my hand tighter in both of his. “Are ye ready, Sassenach? I’ll be right here.”

“Yes I’m ready.” A lump had formed in my throat. “Thank you Mac.” 

Master Raymond closed his eyes for a moment. I could see that he was meditating and trying to centre himself then he looked me in the eye.

“Breath deeply, Madonna.” As I took my first deep breath, he laid his hands gently on my chest over my heart. The glow radiated from his hands, spreading from his palms to his fingertips, reaching deep into my body. As he moved over the meridians of my body, I could feel each cell rejuvenating itself. The blue light danced on my skin causing the glow to engulf my whole body. The pain was intense. I moaned as it got stronger.

“Call to him, Madonna, call to the red man.”

I filled my lungs as I screamed his name.

“JAMIE.” The name poured out of my soul. I heard Mac gasp as he felt the flow of energy leave his body into mine. It was as if his life force had joined with mine.

My hairs stood on end. My skin cooled and the redness subsided as I watched each of the small wounds on my arms gradually close over as if they had never been inflicted. A shudder ran through my entire body. I felt the warmth flow through me from the inside, the pain seeping away. Then peace. 

Mac’s face was pale, a sheen of sweat covering him, his breathing shallow. A look of astonishment passed between the two men slowly changing to an understanding of what had just happened.

“She must rest now, my friend. But just for a short time. Then when she is rested we will tell her.”

“Fine.” Mac uttered in a low voice. He turned to me. “I will leave ye now Claire, but I will see ye soon.” He raised my hand to his lips. “Master Raymond is right, ye must rest.”

He stood and made his way to the door. He turned back as his hand turned the doorknob. “Soon.” He promised me as he walked into the hallway. 

Uncle Lamb and Master Raymond rose from their chairs. Uncle Lamb hugged me. 

“We’ll be back soon, chick. You have a nap and we’ll talk later.”

After they had gone I thought through what had just happened. I had never seen Master Raymond so unsure of his abilities, so vulnerable. What was it between Mac and me, this connection? Why had I not called to him? He was the red man here in the room holding my hand. Was it that my recollection of that other life was still uppermost in my consciousness? My mind whirled with questions. What had really happened while I was under the trance? What else was I to discover when they returned?

I tried to recall the visions and feelings of the other Claire. Some were vivid as if I had just seen them but others were blurry as if I was looking through a window clouded with condensation.

The thing I wanted to remember most was Jamie. I could feel his arms around me, strong yet gentle. I could taste his lips on mine, nipping as we kissed. I could hear his laugh, hearty, filled with joy and smell his scent, a combination of musk, cinnamon and peppermint but I couldn’t conjure up his face. That face that I had looked upon so many times was now shrouded from me. Why? Why could I not remember?

I felt my eyes get heavy as my body sunk back into the bed, sapped of all energy. I surrendered to sleep hoping that soon my questions would be answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The aroma of a beefy broth assailed my nostrils as Jenny’s soft brogue filtered through the haze of sleep.

“Claire dearie, it’s time to wake up. Ye need something to eat, to build up yer strength.”

She helped me to sit up, plumping the pillows. I took the bowl gratefully from her and sipped the warm soup.

She sat quietly by me studying my face as I ate.

“Are ye well then?” she asked after a time. “D’ye feel like getting up?”

Rejuvenated after the delicious broth, I took stock of my body. The pain had gone and I felt reenergised. 

“Yes please, Jenny. I feel fine.”

“I had Geillis go and pick up some of yer clothes and I’ve run ye a nice bath. Ye’ll feel like yer own self after.” She patted a pile of clothes that were neatly stacked on the chair beside her then picked up the empty bowl. “Then ye can come down to the study.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lowered myself into the warmth of the fragrant water and sighed. A good soak was exactly what I needed. Jenny had added lavender bath salts to the water and had put out a range of toiletries for me to use. I luxuriated as the heat relaxed my muscles and I washed away the sweat from my body and the lankness of my hair. My skin had miraculously healed with no sign of the sores and redness that had previously covered me. 

I got out and wrapped myself in the thick soft towel as I combed through the knots in my hair. Geillis had brought me my favourite jeans and a simple white t-shirt, a nice change from the costume I had been wearing all week. 

The study door was ajar, I was expected. Jenny sat on the sofa and patted the space next to her, inviting me to sit. Uncle Lamb and Master Raymond day in the chairs opposite. A fresh pot of tea sat on the table between us and Jenny poured out for each of us. 

I wanted to cut to the chase, not wanting to make small talk. I wanted to know whatever it was they had to tell me. I needed to know. I had had enough of the mystery and intrigue that had plagued the last weeks. It was time.

“Right, I’m here and I’m ready to hear whatever you have to say. No pussyfooting around. Just tell me.” I said to them bluntly.

Surprised at my tone, they looked at one another as if trying to work out who would speak first.

Jenny turned to me. She saw the determination in my face and sighed.

“Ok, Claire here it is in a nutshell. In 1745 a seer called Maisri, she was Lord Lovet’s seer, ye ken, made a prophecy. We are sure that the prophecy is about ye.”

“About me?”

“Oui Madonna.”

“So...what does this prophecy say and why are you sure it’s about me?” I asked my nerve wavering a little. This is definitely not what I expected. 

Jenny reached for a small, old looking book that sat on the table next to the tea tray. She opened it to a marked page. 

“With the dawning o’ the new millennium, the virgin Ban-druidh shall be ath-bheothachadh to join with Seumas Ruadh. The full powers that lie within shall emerge on her co-la-breith when she attains her majority. The seal of her womanhood must be broken to protect her from the madness her magic will otherwise unleash. The house of Fraser shall only then vanquish the Sassenach and reclaim the ulaidh of the Clans.” she read out.

“Ok, so what does it mean exactly. I don’t know what the Gaelic words are.

“So ‘the dawn of the new millennium’ is obviously this century, right?”

“Obviously” I retorted not too kindly.

“‘The virgin Ban-Druidh’, that’s a wise woman or a white lady, ‘shall be ath-bheothachadh’ that means to be reborn or revitalised, ‘to join with Seumas Ruadh.’ 

“So why would you think it’s me?” I asked.

“Weel Claire, Master Raymond has told us of the powers ye have so that, in some circles would make ye a white lady, La Dame Blanche. Yer Uncle confided to us that the other Claire was called such.”

“Yes and that’s what got me... I mean her killed!” I spat at her. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Jenny. I...”

“Dinna fash, Claire. It’s alright. Understandable after everything.” She laid her hand over mine. “The prophecy says the Ban-Druidh was a virgin. I hate tae have to ask but...”

“Yes, I am. I was...am waiting for the right person. Now that we’ve established that minor detail, what was the next part?”

“It says that she will be reborn, we ken now that ye have been no?”

I nodded.

“Weel, this is the part ye may no agree with. ‘to join with Seumas Ruadh.’”

“To join with, to join him doing what exactly?” The penny dropped. “Oooh no. No way. I am not giving up my virginity to some random man.”

“No Claire, we wouldna ask ye to do that.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Ye’d be wed first.”

“WHAT???”


	33. A bridegroom revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophecy is teased out further. Claire gets mad and swears just a little. (Ok a lot)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time. It just felt right to finish it there (just the chapter, not the story)

“WHAT???” I looked at Jenny incredulously. “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ. You must be fucking kidding me.”

“I told you she wouldn’t take it well.” said Uncle Lamb softly.

I turned on him. “You...you knew about this? How could you?”

My blood boiled in my veins.

“Calm yourself, Cherie.” Master Raymond tried to soothe me. “We only do this to keep you safe.”

I turned on him in fury. “So now you want to keep me safe after you abandoned me...her...oh Christ... I don’t know what’s real anymore.” My rage turned to tears. “It was you...in Paris, wasn’t it. I don’t know how it could be but it was.”

Master Raymond knelt in front of me and held my hands. 

“Oui, Madonna, it was I. I waited for as long as I could but I had to flee the city. I would have helped her if I could. Monsieur Foret sent word of what happened to Claire. I’m so very sorry, ma cher.” He leaned over and kissed my hands. “ I will explain to you how this is possible soon but now we must concentrate on the prophecy.”

Jenny put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. I knew that none of this was anyone’s fault but how could I possibly marry some stranger. I breathed deeply to regain my composure.

“Ok, now tell me why...why I must ‘join’ with this Seamus whatever his name is.”

“Seamus Ruadh.” Jenny continued. “The next part is ‘The full powers that lie within shall emerge on her co-la-breith when she attains her majority.’ A co-la-breith is the day of yer birth.”

“So my 21st birthday? But that was nearly 4 years ago. Why is this all happening now?”

“Claire, my dear,” Uncle Lamb explained. “In 1745, a woman didn’t legally attain her majority until the age of 25. They weren’t thought to be mature enough to make their own decisions until then.”

“So they were old enough to get married at sixteen or eighteen, have a tribe of kids, run a house and do God knows what else before then but not make their own decisions?” I stopped Uncle Lamb with a hand before he could say it. “I know enough history, Uncle. Things were different back then.”

Jenny went on. “The seal of her womanhood must be broken to protect her from the madness her magic will otherwise unleash.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that in two days time, some major magical powers are going to present themselves that will send me mad unless I get right royally fucked by this Seamus fellow. That’s great, that’s really fucking great... and I have no choice in the matter unless I want to land in the loony bin.”

“Weel, Claire, I suppose ye could put it that way.”

“So if I go ahead with this crazy prophecy bullshit, and that’s a big if, when do I get to meet my prospective bridegroom? Or is it like one of those arranged marriages where the bride doesn’t meet him until she gets to the end of the aisle?”

“Actually, Claire, ye’ve already met him. He’s here. At the gathering.”

Oh God, Christ, no one uses their own names here, I thought. Any one of them could be this Seamus character. Oh please God, don’t let it be Rupert or Angus, especially Angus. Maybe it was that McKenzie, what was his name? Dougal, that was it. He had a mean look about him. I had to ask. 

“Who, Jenny, who is it?”

Jenny took my hand. “Claire, it’s Mac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your lovely comments.
> 
> Back to work tomorrow so it may be a few days until the next instalment. Stay tuned.
> 
> Xxx  
> AussieGailophile


	34. Just one more drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire’s thoughts about her impending nuptials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter (sorry) longer ones to come.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! How the hell did I ever get into this situation? I thought as I paced up and down in my room. I’d had to get away from Lallybroch for a while to sort things out in my head so came back to the clinic. Blue Light, the place where it had all started.

All those what if’s went through my mind- What If Uncle Lamb hadn’t got sick? What if he’d never heard about this place? What if I’d never become a doctor? What if I’d slept around like a lot of the other girls at university? What if. What if?

God, I needed a drink. I went over to the table and opened the bottle of whiskey I’d brought back with me. One good thing about the highlands, there’s always more whiskey. I poured myself a more than generous slug and relished in the flavour and burn of it as it trickled down my throat..  
I resumed my thoughts.

Would destiny or fate have still brought me here? Did I even believe in destiny? Too much had happened over the last few weeks to deny that something had lead me to this point.

Now I had to face my future. I’d always thought I’d meet a nice guy, go on dates, fall in love, get engaged then married and live, if not happily ever after, at least a normal conventional life. A house in the suburbs, a couple of kids and a dog. Normal.

My situation now was so far removed from normal. Not only do I have ‘magical powers’ that could end up sending me to an asylum but in two days I was to marry a man I’d known for less than a week. It seemed like I had no choice.

As I thought, I drank. I needed something to settle the nerves that were welling inside me.

Mac. Or Seamus Ruadh as apparently his real name was. Well I was going to keep my own name, Dr Claire Ruadh did not have a ring to it. He didn’t look like a Seamus. Seamus conjured up a weedy man with a bald patch and bad teeth. I resolved I would continue to call him Mac. 

Mac. I had certainly scored in the looks department. Thank Christ, it hadn’t been one of the others, just the thought of waking up each morning to Angus wanted to make me barf. Just the thought of it made me shudder. That deserved another drink.

But Mac I could live with. Would live with. But where? The highlands didn’t have a hospital that I knew of and be damned if I would throw away all the years I’d spent studying to become a surgeon to be anything less.

Mac. I took stock - tall, handsome in that rugged Viking way, buff (like really buff, those muscles were impressive), eyes you could drown in, a cute butt, that gorgeous hair (I’d always had a thing for gingers, maybe influenced by a crush on Ed Sheeran and Ron Weasley as a teenager), gentle but capable hands, nice legs from what I could see of them as he wore his kilt (what else he had under his kilt would soon be revealed, I supposed) and very kissable lips. I’d always been a sucker for an accent but the way he rolled his r’s and the lilt of his voice especially when he spoke in Gaelic was gorgeous. 

I suppose I could do a lot worse in an arranged marriage, which for all intents and purposes this was. I didn’t dislike him, in fact, I liked him very much, I was just incensed that it hadn’t been my choice. 

Mac. What the hell was HE thinking? Why would he even agree to marry me? How much did he know about the prophecy and why would he believe it? He seems a well educated man. 

The more I thought about it, the less I realised I knew about him. We’d never even sat down and had a real conversation. I knew more about some of the guys that I’d met for a drink at the pub over the years than I knew about him. What did he do for a living? One of the first questions you asked someone when you first met them? Not that I cared whether he was a rocket scientist or a garbage collector. What about his family? I knew he was related to Jenny in some way. Genetics didn’t lie. Two people couldn’t have eyes like that unless they came from the same gene pool. What were his hobbies? He had a great seat on a horse so he obviously spent a lot of time riding and he liked history, his involvement with the SCA was a testament to that.

There was so much I didn’t know but one thing I did. We had a connection, a strong one, a physical one. We seemed drawn to each other in an inexplicable way.

Two days. In just two days we’d be husband and wife.

Just one more drink then bed.


	35. Wedding preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding preparations are in full swing.

“Oh my sweet lord Claire, how much did ye drink last night?” Geillis pulled one eyelid open, shaking her head, and looking at the empty bottles on the floor.

“Mmmmph” was about all I could mutter. My head felt like a broadsword had split it in two.

“Alright dearie, it’s up and into the shower for ye.” She pulled me up by the shoulders, flung my arm around her neck and stuck her shoulder under my armpit. Somehow she managed to get me on my feet and staggered into the bathroom dragging me along.

“Loo, now!” I managed to get out as I acquainted myself with the porcelain bowl. Geillis, being the good friend she was, held my hair back, as my stomach purged itself. She got me undressed and in the shower, a freaking cold shower.

“Christ Geillis! It’s fucking freezing.”

“So are yer awake now, are ye? Good. Ye’ve got a big day today, Claire. Wedding plans this morning and the reenactment this afternoon. Ye need tae start getting dressed and I’ll duck down and get some of my hangover tea brewing. Double strength I reckon.”

My mouth felt like the bottom of a bird cage. Teeth, I said to myself. I caught a look of myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Hell, I looked like the wreck of the Hesperus.

I managed to get back to the bed and was about to get back under the sheets when Geillis reappeared with a cup of steaming brew.

She thrust it into my hand with an order to drink while she gathered together my costume for the day. 

“Jenny has been up for hours, busy as a honeybee, getting things ready for tomorrow. She’s a marvel ye ken. Not only has she got the wedding to sort out but there’s the feast tonight to prepare. I swear she has half the women in the village helping out.”

“I was hoping for a simple ceremony. Maybe just the registry office in Inverness.”

“Pft! Ye’ll be sadly mistaken then, Lass. Nothing about this wedding will be simple. ‘Tis not every day a Laird gets married.”

“A Laird? What? Nobody said anything about him being a Laird. So I’m going to be Lady Claire Ruadh then am I?”

Geillis collapsed in a fit of laughter. “Och Claire I forgot ye had no Gaelic. Ruadh just means red. His hair, ye ken?”

That was exactly what colour my face turned. What an idiot? Of course the prophecy is not going to spell out his exact name. Prophecies are always cryptic.

Before I knew it Geillis had me dressed, my hair up in a messy bun and heading out the door.

“Come on Claire, we’re late.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lallybroch was abuzz with people everywhere. As I got out of Geillis’ hatchback, I noticed a contingent of men dressed in 18th century British army uniforms, redcoats. I remembered Geillis mentioning the re-enactment.

Jenny appeared on the front steps having been alerted to our presence by the crunch of the cars tyres on the gravel.

“About time ye got here.” she said impatiently. She took one look at my face. “Christ Claire, ye look like ye’ve been drinking for Scotland.”

“I may have had a tipple or two last night.” I said trying to make light of the situation.

“More like a bottle or two.” Geillis commented.

“Well be that as it may, we have work to do. Come with me.” Jenny commanded grabbing my arm and leading me inside. “Have ye eaten, Claire? Yer going to need yer strength today. The re-enactment starts at 1 o’clock so we only have a couple of hours to sort your dress and get the surgery sorted. Upstairs with ye and I’ll fetch something for ye from the kitchen.”

Geillis and I made our way to the Laird’s room with Jenny arriving a moment later with some warm bannocks and a pot of jam. 

A dress was laid out on the bed.

“‘Twas my Mam’s.” Jenny explained, her eyes blinking back tears. “She saved it hoping that I’d wear it someday. But I canna bear the thought of cutting it down to fit me, she having been much taller. I’d really like ye tae wear it.”

My arms wrapped around her. I had very little left of my own mother’s things and wished she could have been there to see me get married, though what she’d make of the circumstances I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Jenny, it’s lovely. Are you sure you really want me to wear it?”

She nodded. “Tis only fitting, you marrying into the family.”

So my assumptions had been correct. They were related. Before I had a chance to ask, Jenny and Geillis started to undress me.

“I can do this myself you know” I protested.

“Aye but nae so quickly. As I told ye, we have a lot tae do today.”

Before I knew it, I was down to my shift. The gown was stunning. Silver linen with sheer smocked sleeves of the finest organza. On the chair beside the bed lay an array of underpinnings from which Jenny and Geillis attired me. First the front lacing stays, adorned with floral and leaf white work embroidery. Next came the panniers. How I was ever to get through the door eluded me. 

This was followed by a petticoat with a wide quilted band at the bottom over which they placed a silk stomacher and underskirt. These were exquisitely embroidered with acorn branches and falling leaves of silver plate. Finally the heavily pleated overgown of silver linen.

They stepped back tears welling in both of their eyes. 

“Oh Claire you’re so beautiful.” Jenny whispered. They turned me around to the free standing oval mirror in the corner. The outfit was breathtaking and tears welled up in my eyes too. Before I knew it they were rolling down my face.

“Jenny this is too much. Are you absolutely certain?”

“Even more so now I’ve seen it on ye. ‘Tis like it was made for ye. Mam would have been so proud tae see ye in it. It was nae only my mother who has worn it. It goes back a few generations. Ye would be the seventh bride to wear it. Seven is a lucky number ye ken.”

“Well thank you, Jenny, truly. I’ll be honoured to wear it.”

“Right,” said Jenny, wiping her eyes and giving herself a little shake. “Let’s get it off and pop it away carefully until tomorrow. The feast is not going to cook itself and ye have a big day ahead of ye. Beside the shinty game, the re-enactment is probably the busiest day of the gathering for the healer.”

Now back in my usual costume Geillis and I heading down to the surgery while Jenny went to the kitchen calling to Mrs Crook and Mrs Fitz, giving them instructions about the food to be prepared.

Geillis and I put together a more comprehensive first aid kit and proceeded to the tent which again had been set up, this time in another field chosen, Geillis informed me, for its resemblance to the conditions of Culloden Moor. 

“Ye can see how flat and open and boggy it is. ‘Twas just so at Culloden. The highland army was completely exposed then they charged into the teeth of musket fire, cannons, mortars with nothing more than their broadswords for the most part. It was verra, verra quick and verra bloody. The whole thing took less than an hour.”

“How many were killed?” I asked imagining the terrible wounds that would have killed them if not immediately then in the days or weeks afterward. Without the benefit of proper medical treatment, the injuries would have been horrific and many wounds would have become infected or gangrenous. 

“The Jacobites lost somewhere in the region of two thousand men. In the years following Culloden, the estates of the clan chieftains were plundered and sold. The government banned the wearing of the tartan, they banned the carrying of swords and even the Gaelic language. In effect Culloden marked the end of the clans. The end of the highlander way of life. That is why it’s sae important for us to remember and celebrate our heritage tae honour our ancestors.”

“I’m sorry Geillis,” I said feeling guilty that my countrymen had inflicted such suffering upon these people even though it had been so far back in history.

“Och, Claire. ‘Tis a long time ago. Nowadays, it’s really just an excuse for the lads to have a bit of fun, playing at soldiers. Some however still hold a grudge against the Sassenach.”

“Like Dougal?”

“Aye, the Mckenzie is a special case. He’s a verra passionate man and has always taken it verra seriously. He feels ‘tis his responsibility to seek revenge.”

“Well I hope he doesn’t keep us too busy.”


	36. An old friend is met.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets an old friend and Mac isn’t happy.

People had been arriving at the field all morning setting up for the re-enactment. A mix of highlanders and redcoats, a distinct separation between the two as they kept to their own side of the boggy meadow. 

A group of highlanders were practicing swordplay, working through a series of manoeuvres, going through various cuts, parries and footwork. They used both sword and dirk, a combination both graceful and brutal.

I couldn’t help but notice a familiar redhead, standing a head above most of the men. His routine smooth and flowing, in a carefully choreographed sequence of movements as he thrust at and blocked the advances of his opponent, in this case his godfather, Murtagh. The sun flashed off the blades as they swept through the air and the kilts swung to and fro in unison as they circled each other.

On the other side of the field, some the redcoats were preparing the Brown Bess muskets, the weapon of choice of the British army in the early 18th century. The guns were accurate to 100 yards in general but in the hands of a sharp shooter and prevailing winds, could reach 120 yards.  
Cleaning barrels and preparing shot, in this case blanks, and checking flints were all part and parcel of the routine.

Beside the tents set up on the British side, stood a group of officers discussing tactics. One fair headed captain turned to face my direction and smiled in recognition.

I smiled back as he walked towards me.

“Claire, so lovely and unexpected to see you. What brings you here? Is your uncle here too?” he said looking around to find him.

“Frank! So nice to see you too. I never expected to see you either.” as he hugged me and planted a peck on my cheek. “Uncle Lamb isn’t here at the moment but I suspect he will arrive soon. He’s been looking forward to watching the battle.”

Frank Randall was a historian based at Oxford University. His obsession was Scottish history especially the Battle of Culloden and the Jacobite cause. 

Frank was a colleague and friend of Reverend Wakefield’s and we would often see him at the Manse over the summers we’d spent there, buried in the Reverends extensive collection of Culloden related texts and documents. Last time we’d met, he had been immersed in researching his own genealogy, in particular the exploits of an ancestor, a Captain of the King’s 8th Dragoon’s, Jonathan Wolverine Randall, otherwise known as Black Jack.

We hadn’t seen each other for about 6 years while I had been at university. Frank was eight years my senior and I had had a girly crush on him when I was 18. He was debonair and charming and I had thought myself in love. But a crush was all it had ever been and now we greeted each other as long time friends.

“So what brings you here of all places. I wouldn’t have thought that you were that interested in Scottish history, your upbringing not withstanding.” he asked.

I explained to him about Uncle Lamb’s illness and treatment and being coerced to stand in as medical officer for the duration of the gathering. He expressed his sympathy at hearing about Uncle Lamb and his joy at his continued recovery.

The conversation turned to Frank’s appearance as a redcoat at the gathering. He explained that his career had taken an unexpected turn. He had been seconded by the Heritage Protection Initiative, to try to stop the illegal trade in antiquities on the black market. His special interest was British, Irish and Scottish historic pieces and was now located at Edinburgh examining the provenance of numerous items of historic importance that had been appearing for sale in increasing numbers in auction houses and on the internet.

“I never thought of the highlands as a hotbed of crime and intrigue, at least not in this century.” I remarked. “And I never imagined you in a getup like this.” Frank was quite staid and not one to dress up. I remembered a fundraiser that I had attended with my uncle. It had been a masquerade ball and Frank’s idea of dressing up was adding a fake gun and holster inside his tuxedo saying he was James Bond.(Uncle Lamb had gone as Mark Anthony to my Cleopatra).

“As you can imagine, my role requires me to remain incognito, so I need to blend in. You’ll keep that to yourself, won’t you? A necessary evil so to speak. Now though Claire I must leave you to prepare for the battle. May I see you later?”

“Of course, Uncle Lamb will be thrilled to see you.”

He squeezed my hand and hurried back to his preparations.

Next thing I knew, a hand had grabbed my elbow and swung me around, almost making me lose my footing. Mac stood in front of me, face red suffused with anger.

“Who the hell was that and why were ye talking to him?” He shook with rage.

I was taken aback. Was he jealous of me talking to another man? Despite the fact that we were to be married the next day, I never thought he would react like this. It wasn’t as if he loved me or anything, this was an arranged marriage for all intents and purposes. I steadied myself before I answered.

“His name is Frank Randall . He’s an old friend.” I said rubbing my arm.

“Randall?” He spat in fury.

“Yes, Frank Randall . Mac, what’s wrong?” I couldn’t fathom why he was so furious.

Mac took a deep breath. 

“Frank Randall ye say.”

“Yes, Mac, Frank Randall. He’s a professor at Oxford. He’s a friend of Reverend Wakefield’s. I met him years ago when we were staying in Inverness.” Mac had frightened me with his reaction to seeing Frank. He looked abashed.

“I’m sorry for taking on so, Sassenach. ‘Tis just...He reminded me of someone else.” He tentatively held his hand out in apology. I reciprocated and he brought it to his lips. “I didna hurt ye did I? I’m awful sorry.” His face regained it’s composure and begged for forgiveness. He took my other hand and pulled me towards him. His lips brushed my forehead.

“It’s OK Mac, you just frightened me.” I reassured him. “Mac, could we speak later? About... about tomorrow.”

“Aye, Claire. After the battle? I ken ye have questions and I mean tae answer them. I just need a clear head for the next couple of hours.”

“Of course. I’d hate for you to get injured or ‘die’” I said tongue in cheek.

“It’s no sommat to joke about, Sassenach. Folk have died afore.”

“Then you’ll just have to be careful, won’t you.”

“Sassenach, would you kiss me good luck?” He asked hopefully.

I reached up, pulled his head towards mine and kissed him sweetly on the lips. I pulled the blue ribbon out of my hair and tied it around his wrist. 

“A token for my husband to be, a warrior brave, a gentleman through and through. May your triumphs be many and your injuries few.” I meant this, especially the injury part. 

“Tapadh leibh mo ghaol. Thank ye, truly.” He said wrapping me in his arms. My head fitted snuggly under his chin. “Take care, Sassenach. I shall see ye after the battle, Aye?”

“Aye,” I said in my worst Scots accent. I felt him laugh under his breath. “Now off you go, soldier.” I said as kissed his cheek.

He stepped back and bowed to me in a courtly fashion. 

“Fare thee well, my lady.” And with that he turned and headed back.


	37. Culloden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The re-enactment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. It’s been a busy weekend.
> 
> This chapter is just a bit of a filler. The next chapter will be juicier I promise.

The crowd started to build, the car park filled to capacity as spectators arrived in droves. Jenny, Geillis and I had retreated to the first aid tent and were soon joined by a young man dressed as a redcoat. Jenny introduced us.

“Claire, this is Hamish Beaton. His grandfather is Davey Beaton, who was...”

“Yes I know, the local GP until a few months ago. I’m glad to meet you, Hamish. I see you’ve taken after your grandfather.” I said noticing his medical bag.

“Except that I play for the other side.” he answered indicating his uniform. “My grandfather was quite put out but my university sends a contingent each year to ‘fight’ so here I am.”

“I remember young Hamish when he was but a wee laddie, no that I was that much older, mind.” said Jenny. 

“I have read your grandfather’s log book. Your grandfather is a very interesting man.” I remarked.

“Yes he is. That’s what inspired me to follow in his footsteps. I thought about settling up here to take over his practice but I grew up in London and have a residency at Great Ormond Street. I love working with what Grandda would call ‘the wee ones’.”

Jenny showed him where to set up while I looked out at the field. The ‘combatants’ had increased in number to about two hundred and fifty. A riot of different tartans massed on one side armed with a variety of weapons. Along with the swords and dirks which seemed to be the weapons of choice for the Lallybroch detachment, there were pikes, muskets, pistols, Lochaber axes and a group armed only with pitchforks and scythes as was historically accurate. A couple of cannons stood behind.

Jenny pointed out the different clans. McDonald’s in tartan of green and blue checked with red, Chisholm’s in brown and green, Ogilvie’s kilts of black and green and a conglomeration of others all wearing the ancient colours.

On the other side of the field, the redcoats were massing armed with more fire power than the highlanders. During Culloden both sides had cavalry, the British considerably more than the Scots, but safety rules banned the use of horses in the re-enactment for the safety of both man and beast.

A huge crowd of spectators had amassed. Jenny told me that it was a popular event bringing tourist buses from far and wide and the market booths were doing a brisk trade while people were waiting for the main event. Right on one o’clock, a couple of local actors dressed as key players announced the beginning of the tableau. In the middle of the field stood the Bonnie Prince; Charles Edward Stuart and William Augustus; Duke of Cumberland, leaders of each army. They gave a short but interesting account of the lead up to the battle that was about to enfold for the edification of the audience then left the field to stand behind their respective sides as a pair of drummers began to tap their side drums in a slow rhythm.

The anticipation was palpable, both in the crowd and among the combatants. Then the first British cannon fired. Over the next hour, the actual length of time the battle took, the two sides met in a semi- choreographed campaign, all the while knowing what the outcome was supposed to be. The first fifteen minutes of the battle consisted mainly of artillery fire. Modern day pyrotechnics had been very subtly included to simulate the blowing up of the ground as no real cannon shot could be used. Men started to fall as if they’d been blown up.

This was followed by volley after volley of gunfire from the English troops as they neatly dispatched many a highlander with their well rehearsed formations. The highlander forces answered with their own as they prepared for the highland charge of legend. 

The clan battle cries rang out as wave after wave of kilted Scots surged forth towards the British lines. The Redcoat infantry ran out to meet them. The hand to hand combat that ensued was spectacularly brutal. 

I looked for Mac among the fray and soon spotted him surrounded by three redcoats. He was beautiful and menacing at the same time, his expert swordsmanship showed as he made short work of the three men with broadsword and dirk. 

Nearby Angus and Rupert fought back to back, fending off the soldiers. Suddenly, Angus fell as if shot and as Rupert turned to his best friend, to check on him, an English bayonet caught him in the side. Rupert clutched his side dramatically as he fell, landing across Angus’ prone body.  
The bodies piled up on the field. 

A few participants from each side had been chosen for their particular skills to showcase the prowess of the warriors of old. They were to finish the action as the last men standing. It was no surprise to see that Mac was one of those but to my astonishment, Frank was there armed with a sword of 35 inches in one hand and pistol in the other. He aimed the gun at Mac and pulled the trigger. A misfire! Disappointed that he had been deprived of his advantage, Frank advanced and engaged Mac in combat. Mac was surprised by Frank’s expertise with his weapon and answered in kind. 

They were positioned close to the edge of the battlefield to the delight of the crowd as they thrust and parried. 

I turned to see that the wounded were starting to arrive at the tent. When I turned back Mac was kneeling on one knee holding his thigh while all the while defending himself from Frank. With one lucky stroke, Mac’s dirk slid under Frank’s armpit and he collapsed feigning death.

The fife and drums struck up to signal the end of the battle. The two actors retook centre stage to enlighten the audience about the result and aftermath of Culloden on the Scottish culture.

Jenny and Geillis stood to the side of the tent had started handing out ice packs to soothe bruises and swelling, by far the most common of the injuries sustained. Rupert was assisting Angus from the field. From the way he was walking, I suspected a groin injury and was proven correct when Angus explained.

“The great gullumph’s elbow got me fair and square in the baws when he fell.” Angus said as he took an ice pack from Geillis. “‘Tis like I’ve a target painted on me kilt.”

Hamish and I treated the men as they came in. Three fractures which according to Jenny was an improvement on previous years and an assortment of fairly minor cuts and abrasions.

From the corner of my eye I saw Murtagh hurrying to the tent.

“Claire, ye must come quickly. ‘Tis Mac. He’s bleeding something fierce.”

Without hesitation I grabbed my bag and hastened to the field. Frank was knelt beside Mac putting pressure on his thigh. I could see Mac clenching his teeth in pain as Frank was apologising to him. 

“What the hell happened Frank? I thought the swords were all blunt.”

“Honestly” Frank was saying “I had my sword checked before the battle. They said it complied.”

I knelt beside him and lifted Mac’s kilt and wiped away the rapidly pooling blood to reveal a seven inch gash down his leg. I pulled a field dressing from my kit and wrapped it tightly around the wound. Mac muttered angrily in Gaelic. This was one time I was glad I didn’t understand him.

“Take him up to the surgery.” I urged Rupert who had arrived with the stretcher and three other burly highlanders. “It’ll need cleaning and stitching.”

As I followed the stretcher up to the house and instructed the men to help Mac up on the surgery table, Jenny flew through the door, thanked the men and hustled them out the door, closing and locking it behind them.

I looked at her questionly.

“I wasna sure ye’d want an audience if yer going tae do what I think.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. Thank you, Jenny.”

Mac was very quiet and pale. I hadn’t had a chance to check the wound properly outside but prayed that the femoral artery was still intact. I took out the suture kit and the disinfectant. 

“Canna ye just lay yer hands on it and do yer magic?” he asked softly, the pain showing through his words. 

“Maybe but I’m not sure it’ll work. I’m too flustered. I’ll stitch it first then I’ll try. At least I’ll know I’ve done everything I can.”

I took a deep breath. The gash was deep but clean. No ragged edges and the initial bleeding had abated. Good! No artery damage.

“Do you need something for the pain?” I asked remembering the last time I’d tended to him. “This’ll hurt.”

“Whiskey?” He pleaded. “Ye ken I dinna like yer wee needles.” 

“Fine,” I replied against my better judgement “but you’re not getting away with it completely. When was your last tetanus shot?”

“I canna remember so I suppose you’re going to give me one.”

“Yes and penicillin too just in case.” I assured him. 

Jenny went to get the bottle of whiskey . He reached for my hand. I took it and squeezed it gently. 

“Thank ye, Sassenach for the tending of my wee scratches.”

I cocked one eyebrow. “Wee?”

He answered with a watery smile as Jenny returned with the bottle and glass. He took the bottle and sculled directly from it. I snatched it from his hand. 

“I think that’s enough.” as I picked up the needle and started stitching. 

“Never enough whiskey, Sassenach.” He said through the grimace on his face.

Fifteen stitches, a tetanus shot and penicillin later, I sat on the chair beside the table. Jenny excused herself, giving us some privacy.

“I’m sure ye both have things tae talk about so I’ll get back tae the kitchen.” She said as she left the room.

We did need to talk but where to start?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your encouragement and comments


	38. A proposal is made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little healing and conversation.

“I’m sure ye both have things tae talk about so I’ll get back tae the kitchen.” Jenny said as she left the room.

We did need to talk but where to start?

My brain was still in doctor mode.

“How’s the pain? You still look pale.” I asked.

“It’s ok, Sassenach. Nothing another wee nip couldn’t fix. Ye look a bit peaky yerself, lass. Would ye join me for a dram?” He sat up, swaying just a little.

“You shouldn’t be sitting up. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I went to the tap to get him some water. “You need to replenish your liquids.”

“Whiskey’s a liquid, no? And if I lie on this table for much longer, I’m liable to need a chiropractor as well.”

“No, whiskey is definitely not a liquid in this case.” I helped him from the table to a chair and handed him the glass of water. “Drink this.”

He obliged. I took the glass and put it back on the bench.

“Come sit by me, mo nighean donn. I dinna bite.” He said comfortingly, patting the chair beside him.

Nervously I sat, not nervous of him but anxious about the conversation that would follow.

“I have questions.” I blurted out.

“Aye, I thought ye might. What is it ye want to know?” He said softly.

“Why did you agree to marry me?”

“Weel, to be honest, I didna think I had much choice. The prophecy, ye ken.”

“But how do you know that it’s you? There must be hundreds of red headed men in the highlands called Seamus.”

He smiled and reached for my hand. As soon as we touched that now familiar tingle passed between us.

“This is why I ken it. This is no usual, this, what it is between us. Have ye felt it before? With another man?”

“No, no it isn’t usual. It’s different. But why? Surely you could have refused. We don’t know anything about each other.”

“Sassenach, I agreed because I want to keep ye safe, protect ye, ye ken. Yer special.”

“Protect me? Why? You don’t know me. I could be a horrible person.”

“Aye, ye could be but so could I.” He looked down at our hands, his face flushed slightly. He took a deep breath then looked back to my face in earnest. “Do ye trust me, Claire? Do ye trust that I’d do right by ye? Do ye trust enough to make this leap of faith that all of us who care for ye, yer uncle, Master Raymond, Jenny and Geillis, want this to happen to keep ye safe?”

I shook my head, not in disagreement but trying to get my head around all that he was saying, all that had transpired.

His face fell, misinterpreting the shake of my head.

“Do ye not want me, Claire? Is there someone else? Randall? Ye seemed verra glad to see him.” His face showed that same flash of anger he’d had earlier.

“No, no, Frank and I are just old friends.” I reassured him. “I did have a crush once, when I was younger but there’s really nothing between us.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Then will ye marry me, Sassenach?”

“I suppose I really don’t have much choice either. I suppose I could just shrug off the prophecy as a load of bunkum but too much has happened to ignore it. So, yes, I will marry you.”

He made to stand then fell back in the chair.

“Ifrinn!” He gasped, the pain surging through his leg.

I got up and knelt in front of him. 

“I suppose if you’re to walk down the aisle tomorrow, I’d better see if I can do something about that leg.” I smiled shyly at him “I hope to God it works.”

He laid his hand on my cheek and caressed it with his thumb. “I dinna ken If God has anything to do with it, mo luaidh, but I have faith in ye.”

I closed my eyes. His touch seemed to help me center myself. I could feel the warmth flow from my core to my fingers. I opened my eyes to see the tips of my fingers glowing as I laid my hands on his thigh. A gasp escaped his lips.

“Am I hurting you?” I asked in concern.

“No, Sassenach, it does nae hurt. It just surprised me. I’d forgotten what it felt like.”

“So this is not the first time you’ve been healed like this then?” I thought about his dislocated finger. I hadn’t invoked the healing then, though somehow his finger had healed in record time. “Master Raymond?”

“Aye, and another but it was a long time ago, lass.” His eyes had turned a beautiful sapphire blue, the same colour as the glow from my hands. 

I looked down to see the wound completely closed leaving just a faint line in the way of a scar. 

“Once more I’m indebted to ye, Sassenach.” he remarked as he flexed his knee. “It does nae hurt anymore. Thank ye.”

“I’m just glad it worked.” I made to stand, feeling a bit wobbly. His strong arms raised me up. 

“Are ye alright, lass?” He pulled me towards him to keep me steady. “D’ye need tae lay down?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Mac lowered me into the chair, poured a glass of whiskey and thrust it into my hand. 

“The water of life.” he uttered. The look of recognition showed on my face. 

“You’ve called it that before. In the glade.”

“Aye, ye remember that. Well I did tell ye it was a liquid.” He said jokingly. “Sassenach, there’s a feast tonight. Will ye sit with me?” He saw the incredulous look on my face. “Aye, another. We make the most of it at the gathering.”

“So what’s this one in aid of?” I asked.

“‘Tis to commemorate all that have died defending Scotland and her pursuit of freedom, even now.”

“Who else would I go with? We are engaged after all. It would be my honour then, thank you Mac.”

“Aye, we are that. I have to go now, Claire. Will ye be alright then? There’s lots to do to and Jenny’ll have my head if I dinna help.”

“Of course, go, I’m sure Jenny will have something for me to do too. I’ll see you later.” I reached up and kissed him goodbye on the cheek.

He left humming tunelessly and grinning like a Cheshire Cat 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenny was dashing around the place, giving orders to the troops. If Jenny had been in charge at Culloden, the Scots would’ve won, no doubt. She was formidable. 

She set me to work in the kitchen under Mrs Fitz. Mrs Fitz herself was a wonder. If Jenny was the General then Mrs Fitz was the Quarter Master. I had little experience with cooking except over a campfire. In the years traveling with Uncle Lamb, there was always a camp cook out on the digs, and of course Mrs Graham had looked after us when we stayed at the Manse. Even at university and the hospital, I ate all my meals in the cafeteria.

Telling Mrs Fitz of my lack of skills, she laughed. 

“Weel dearie, looks like the potatoes fer ye.” I looked at the overflowing sack of potatoes sitting by the bench. Oh well, I had said to Jenny I’d help. 

“I wasn’t aware that potatoes were particularly Scottish fare, Mrs Fitz. Especially that early in the 1700’s.”

“Aye yer right in general, but the laird’s sister planted the first ones just before Culloden. She’d been told by a wise woman that there’d be a famine and that potatoes would yield a better crop than barley so she did as told. She sent all the way to Edinburgh for them and the crop saved them from starvation for more than a few winters. We’ve been growing them here ever since.”

A wise woman indeed, I thought to myself. I applied myself to peeling them as Mrs Fitz scurried around directing the other women in their chores. I enjoyed watching the experienced cooks creating marvellous dishes and smelling the glorious aromas coming from the stoves and ovens.

By five o’clock most of the cooking was done except for a few final details. Mrs Fitz thanked me for my help and bustled me upstairs to get ready. Someone, Jenny I suspected, had laid out a fresh set of clothes out for me. She really was a marvel. 

I washed and redressed, this time in a beautiful gown of pale blue wool edged around the bodice in Fraser tartan and a stomacher of the same fabric. The lacing was of a bright red picking up the thin red line through the check. A fly plaid of the family tartan sat neatly folded on the bed ready to be attached to my shoulder. On top of the plaid lay a brooch. Clearly old, it was made up of an intricate design of two stylised stags and a thistle pattern, dotted with tiny blue stones. A stick pin with a white tail end lay beside it to keep the plaid in place. 

I picked up the plaid and laid it over my left shoulder. I grew frustrated as I struggled to pin the brooch correctly. I heard a knock at the door. I went to answer it.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” I muttered as once more it slipped from my grasp.

“Do ye need some help, Sassenach?” Mac stood in the doorway dressed in a matching Fraser kilt and plaid. He gazed at my outfit and tears welled up in his eyes. Clearly Jenny had planned this. 

“Ye look sae bonnie, Claire.” He stepped forward and took the brooch from my hand. He caressed the brooch with his thumb thoughtfully then with practised fingers, pinned the brooch through the plaid perfectly. “‘Tis a little tricky tae get right the first few times.” he said adjusting the plaid to lay perfectly over my shoulder.

“Thank you, Mac. It’s so beautiful and looks old and fragile. I didn’t want to break it.”

“Are ye ready now, lass?” I nodded and he took my hand, threaded it formally through his elbow and escorted me down the stairs. Jenny and Murtagh stood at the bottom of the staircase waiting, dressed in their best and eager to be on their way. Murtagh gave me one of his rare smiles. 

“Ye look grand, lass.” he said “we’ll make a Fraser of ye yet.” Jenny nudged him in the ribs. “What was that for?” he muttered at her. She gave him a look that only they understood.

Thanking him for his compliment, Mac and I followed them out the door.


	39. The gathering feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast at the gathering and once more Claire has doubts.

Mac escorted me to the field where the calling and Ceilidh had taken place earlier in the week. The tables had again been set up and the crowd had already assembled. Tartan was everywhere. I doubted there was a single person who was not wearing a plaid, kilt, gown, or arasaid made of their family tartan. Even Uncle Lamb jauntily sported a Tam o’shanter of Fraser tartan. He sat between Geillis and Mrs Fitz. As we approached a mighty ‘Hurrah!’ arose from the assembly.  
Mrs Fitz bounced from her seat to embrace us. 

“Congratulations my dears and to be wed at the gathering too. ‘Tis good luck ye ken.”

The news of our impending nuptials had spread throughout the gathered clans as folk came up to us to clap Mac on the back and to kiss my cheek or shake our hands in congratulations. 

Mac lead me to the head of the Fraser table where the last two seats stood empty, obviously awaiting our arrival. Mac pulled the chair out for me before taking his own seat. He leaned over towards me and explained that this was to be the only chance for the multitude to celebrate with us. 

The majority of the attendees would be packing up and leaving tomorrow and our actual wedding would be a small private affair with only close family and friends. It was customary for weddings and christenings were performed on the last day of the gathering when the visiting priest would grace the family chapel with his presence. This harkened back to the days when couples families had arranged the unions between them and priests were scarce outside of the towns.

The drone of bagpipes filled the air and a hush fell over the crowd. A procession came from the direction of the house carrying an array of amazing dishes. Leading the way was the McKenzie, Jenny’s Uncle Dougal, followed by Rupert and Angus carrying an enormous platter. The platter held roasted haunches of venison decorated with the head, complete with antlers, of the beast they had brought down earlier in the week. Other members of the McKenzie clan followed with various pies, one adorned with a peacock tail, and an assortment of vegetables and bread. These were all deposited on a row of empty tables off to the side. Tonight’s meal was a buffet, the majority of which was supplied by Dougal’s clan. The assembled diners clapped and emitted sounds of appreciation as the feast was assembled.

Mac leaned towards me and explained that this was a custom where the clan that would host the next gathering would have an opportunity to show their ability to provide for the multitudes the next time they all assembled. 

Dougal raised his hand. The pipes ceased and the crowd quietened. 

“We are assembled here tonight to celebrate another successful gathering. We thank Clan Fraser for their hospitality and wish their Laird every happiness in the future. We also invite you all to gather at Castle Leoch next year as we once again congregate to celebrate our heritage.” He raised a glass. “To Clan Fraser. Slainte.”

Everyone toasted the Clan and cheered once again. 

Mac stood and offered me his hand. Together we walked through the crowd to the twenty foot long table that literally groaned with the amount of food it was laden with. 

He turned to the amassed clans and thanked Dougal for his kind words and Clan McKenzie for the food before us. He then spoke the blessing.

“May there always be work for yer hands tae do,  
May yer purse always hold a coin or two,  
May the sun always shine upon yer window pane,  
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain,  
May the hand of a friend always be near to ye and  
May God fill yer heart with gladness tae cheer ye.”

He then took the sword that lay the table. He offered it to me and laid his hand over mine as I took it. We then plunged it into the top of the peacock pie as the people again cheered.

The musicians that had set up on a small stage began to play as Mac passed me a plate. As the affianced couple, were expected to be served first along with the rest of the hosting clan as, with the toast and the blessing, the baton had officially been passed to Clan McKenzie. 

We sat back down at the table with full plates and Mac explained the significance of the pie. It showed the status of the McKenzies as a wealthy and powerful clan, peacocks only being kept by the nobility in the 18th century. The cutting of the pie was an honour kept for honoured guests and as the couple about to be married, that had fallen to us.

The meal, as usual, was substantial and the drink flowed. An army of servers collected the empty plates and cleared away most of the remaining food leaving platters of sweetmeats, fruit, cheeses and fresh bannocks for folk to nibble on later.

People mingled, giving them a chance to catch up with friends and family from other clans. Rupert and Angus, ale tankards in hand, found their way to our table, along with a few others of their particular friends.

Conversation with Rupert and Angus was never dull as I had gleaned throughout the week. The conversation became more ribald as the evening drew on.

Rupert was busy boasting about his prowess with the fairer sex.

“So here I am in bed, messy Chrissy on my left and sweaty Nettie, the butchers daughter on my right. They get jealous of each other and start arguing about who I’m going to swive first. Can ye believe it?”

“I believe your left hand gets jealous of your right. That’s about all I believe.” I said.

There was a stunned silence as they looked at each other in shock. Then they laughed hard.

“You’re a witty one.” Mac whispered in my ear.

“I’ve never heard a woman make a joke like that before.” Rupert said wiping a tear from his eye as the others guffawed in delight.

“Well there’s a first time for everything.” I replied.

The musicians had been busy all evening and folk had been dancing traditional dances, Gay Gordons, The Dashing White Sergeant, The Haymaker and numerous other jigs, reels, polkas, strathspeys and waltzes. The band announced their last set and Mac stood, bowed courteously and asked me to dance.

“I don’t know the steps.” I said nervously.

“I’m no one for dancing much either, Sassenach but we’ll do well enough. Come it’ll be a bit of a lark.” He reassured me.

We made our way to the temporary dance floor and joined Jenny and Fergus, Mary McNabb and her husband, Ronald and Uncle Lamb and Mrs Fitz. The dance was the White Heather jig and I followed the sequence so eloquently displayed by the others. Mac was surprisingly light on his feet and managed to avoid stepping on mine as we made our way through the steps. The set consisted of four dances ending in Kimberley’s Waltz.

Mac took my hand and placed his on my waist as he pulled me closer to him. His breath was warm on my neck and his closeness was comforting. He drew back a little and stared into my face, that now familiar smile playing on his lips. 

“I canna wait until tomorrow, mon nighean donn, when yer finally mine.”

What he intended as loving words, sounded in my head as a threat to my freedom. My freedom to choose my own mate, the freedom to choose my own fate. I grew nervous thinking about what the next day was going to bring. My doubts again reared their ugly heads and I broke away from his arms.

I turned and hurried towards the house, tears streaming down my face. What was I thinking, agreeing to this farce? I tried to think rationally about all that had happened throughout the week, but think as I may, none of it still made sense. I was scared that it had all been a bad dream or nightmare but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was the truth. I reached the dooryard, sat heavily on the stone steps and cupped my face in my hands. The waltz had brought it all to the fore. 

As I sobbed, I heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel as he approached. I looked through my fingers to see a pair of boots before me.

“May I sit beside ye, lass?” He asked quietly. I nodded, sniffing as I removed my hands to find him offering me his handkerchief. As I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, I stole a glance towards him to find him staring at his hands, a sad look on his face. 

“I’m sorry for running off, it’s just...” I tried to explain. 

“What? Do I frighten ye, Sassenach? I’ve seen ye shudder more than once when I touch ye. If it’s no that, is it that ye dinna like me?”

“I like you well enough, Mac but I’m scared. Not of you but of the prophecy. I still don’t know if I completely understand or believe it but what if it’s true and if I still end up going mad regardless of, of...well you know.”

“Regardless of whether we consummate the marriage, ye mean.”

“What if you’re not the right person? I know we have something that connects us but... I... don’t love you. How can you marry someone like me? Someone who, supposing they’ve got it all wrong, could be a raving lunatic the day after tomorrow.”

He took my small hands in his big, square ones and turned to face me.

“Claire, I know yer scared. I canna imagine how ye feel inside but I promise ye, Sassenach, I will look after ye. I promise ye the protection of my body if it comes to that.” His hand tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear then trailed his fingers down to my chin. He tilted it up slightly so that my eyes met his. “I promise this to ye now and will swear it again tomorrow before the priest. I ken it’s us. I ken it deep in my soul.”

I once again nodded knowing that I had no choice and it could’ve been a lot worse.

“Thank you Mac. You probably think you ARE marrying a mad woman, the way I’ve been acting. I’m sorry. I think I’ll retire now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Sassenach. Sweet dreams.”he said to her. Then to himself “I love ye, mo chridhe”


	40. Life is a choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie’s regret and promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telling a part of the story from Jamie’s point of view is of course not my idea but I found it such a powerful episode in the series that I had to include one, albeit a short one. I’ve struggled with Jamie having to lie when he himself asked for honesty so this is my attempt to show his regret.
> 
> The first part of course is verbatim from the book/series.

_Strange. The things you remember. The people. The places. The moments in time, burned into your heart forever, while others fade in the mist. I’ve always known I’ve lived a life different from other men. And when I was a lad, I saw no path before me. I simply took a step and then another. Ever forward. Ever onward. Rushing towards some place I knew not where.  And one day, I turned around and looked back and saw that each step I’d taken was a choice. To go left. To go right. To go forward. Or even not go at all. Every day, every man has a choice. Between right and wrong.  Between love and hate.  Sometimes, between life and death. And the sum of those choices become your life._

_I was ashamed. I had promised her honesty and almost as soon as the promise passed my lips I had broken it. I wrestled with my conscience, trying to justify the lying, telling myself that I would endanger her life if I told the truth._

_I was hiding behind a false name. Not just for the gathering but to hide my cowardice._

_I had promised never to leave her in Paris. I did. I told myself that I’d been ordered to go and I had but as a mercenary I could have chosen another mission. My youthful taste for glory had sealed her fate. When I got back to find her, she was dead and my child had been sent away. My son, Willie._

_My son, William James, her six times over great grandfather. I was then her seven times over great grandfather now to become her husband._

_What a tangled web fate has woven. Destiny was a fickle mistress. I, and only I had made that choice and had paid the price. Now I had been given a second chance and I was well on the way to ruining this one too._

_Claire, my beloved. How could I now be honest with her and face her leaving me? But honest I must be or be damned for eternity._

_I had one last gift that I must give her. Myself. My promise to keep her safe, my promise of the protection of my body would be just that. I must give her my body, just once. Just once would fulfil the prophecy then I would tell her. Tell her everything. Then it would be her choice to make. Her choice to stay or to go._ _I would respect that choice, her choice._

_My heart ached for her, my soul yearned for her, my spirit soared in her presence. I loved her and would for all time. For eternity._

_Destiny had brought us back together and this time God willing, I would prove myself worthy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your encouragement and comments.


	41. A lifeline-Phone a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire calls for backup

I sat on the bed in the Laird’s room, stripped of my finery, wearing just the shift, contemplating my future. 

Where would we live? What did he expect from me as a wife? Was he a traditionalist and expect me to stay home? Would I be able continue to ply my trade as a surgeon? Was he a modern day man at heart or was he so tangled up in the past?

I believed him to be a good man. One that would respect me and look after me but what of that fairytale ending that all little girls dream of? A dream of love eternal. Would that ever be mine?

What was the meaning of the dreams I’d had and what of the dreams I couldn’t remember? The former life, that of Claire Beauchamp in Paris. A life of which I could only remember a few tiny snippets. Would I ever be able to bring that life to the fore of my memory and what was it’s purpose in my future?

The last week had been a whirlwind of the past clashing heavily with the future. Who, outside of the small circle here, would ever believe it? I could never imagine telling anyone about it. 

I had always been a loner. I had lived a transient life. The life of traveling from place to place with my uncle, wasn’t conducive to making lasting friendships. No school friends as I had never attended school. All my education was either by correspondence or from short term tutors Uncle Lamb had employed on the digs.

Even at university, l had made only one good friend. I had felt very different to the other students, all of them had had a conventional upbringing. I, on the other hand had not and it was in the first class of the first semester that I met Joe. 

Joe Abernathy, the missionaries son. We clicked immediately. Joe had lived a similar life to mine albeit a little more conventional and a lot more religious. Hailing from Boston originally, his parents were medical missionaries, and had spent all their married lives living in third world countries, treating the underprivileged. Joe once told me that his one claim to fame was that he had been delivered by Mother Theresa in the slums of Calcutta.

We understood each other and had no secrets but what would he think if I told him about what had happened to me. Would he ship me off to the nearest mental health facility? Or maybe, just maybe, he would believe me. Our shared unconventional upbringings exposed Joe to similar cultures that I had experienced, cultures steeped in superstition and the supernatural. Yes, he may just be the one person outside of all this madness who could understand.

I ached to talk to him but was it too late to call him and could I really try to explain all this over the phone. I could only try. I picked up my phone and pushed the button. It rang and rang. I hoped he would pick up before it went to voicemail.

“Lady Jane” I heard his honeyed voice answer. “How the heck are you? How’s Lamb? Any improvement?”

“Oh God, Joe, it’s so good to hear your voice.” I said as I let out the breath I had been holding.

“Is everything alright, LJ? You sound stressed. It must be important for you to be calling so late. Is it Lamb?”

“Actually he’s really good. Almost as if he’d never been sick.”

“Then what is it, Claire? Are you ok?”

“Joe, I’m... I’m getting married. Tomorrow.”

“What!” He spluttered. “Who? How? I think you need to explain yourself.”

Joe knew me too well. He knew that I was not one to make rash decisions. He knew that there was something more.

I made myself comfortable on the bed before launching into my unbelievable tale. I told him everything. The clinic, the blue light, the gathering, the prophecy, my past life and of course, Mac. He listened quietly, letting me pour it all out.

“So, Joe? Do you believe me or have I gone mad?” I asked him. I knew he was the one person who would give me an honest answer.

“Well, Lady Jane, it’s a tall tale but I’m not about to commit you. You don’t have the imagination to make up something so far fetched. Are you going to go through with it?”

“I don’t seem to have much choice.”

“No, Lady Jane, I don’t suppose you do.”

“Joe? Would you do me a favour? I know it’s a big ask but would you come? I really need a friend.”

“Of course. I’ll call in and plead family circumstances at the hospital, pack a bag and hit the road.” He made a few calculations. “I should be there about ten in the morning. Hold tight LJ, the cavalry is on it’s way.”

“Thank you Joe. I don’t know if I can do it without you there.”

“Anything for you, Claire.”

We rang off. My mind, having been in a world of confusion, had calmed with the knowledge that my best and most loyal friend believed my unlikely and fantastic story. He was right. I could never have made this up. Despite it sounding like a J.K. Rowling novel, he heard the truth through what sounded like fantasy.

Sound filtered up from the rooms below. Voices wishing each other a good night and feet making their way upstairs. I switched off my light. The last thing I wanted to do was have to talk to anyone right now. I snuggled under the covers. The next day was my wedding day and with the vanity of brides-to-be throughout the ages I still wanted to look my best. I needed sleep.

Just as I was sinking into the peace of slumber, I heard the clock downstairs chime midnight.

“Happy birthday.” I mumbled to myself.


	42. A bride to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday surprise for Claire and the learning of some new traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claire always seems surrounded by men throughout her life so I thought it would be nice for her to have some time with just the women. Time she was pampered and made to feel loved.
> 
> All these traditions are real Scottish traditions.

The room shone golden as I opened my eyes to a beautiful sunny morning . A light tapping came from the door as it opened just a crack.

“Claire, are ye awake?”

I stretched as Jenny’s head poked into the room. 

“Breakfast is ready in the kitchen. I brought ye a robe tae pop on.” 

The thought of sitting in the kitchen in just my shift and a robe was not one I was ready to entertain.

‘Tis just us girls this morning, ye ken. The house is a man free zone this morning.” She added. Damn my glass face. Can I ever hide what I’m thinking?

I donned the proffered robe and followed Jenny downstairs. The delicious smell of pancakes wafted from the kitchen. As I got to the door, a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” assaulted my ears. Jenny, Geillis, Mrs Fitz, Mrs Crook, and to my delight and surprise, Mrs Graham, cheered and clapped at the surprise on my face. They all took turns hugging me and kissing my cheek.

The table was beautifully set with what I suspected was Jenny’s best china and a vase of lovely yellow roses picked fresh from the stunning climber that grew up the front of the house. A large bowl of fresh hot house strawberries sat on the table, compliments of the gardeners at the clinic, Geillis informed me.

“Yer Uncle said strawberry pancakes were yer favourite.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I appreciated the trouble that they had all gone to to make me feel special. A mound of gifts sat at the end of the table. I was ushered to my chair and before I knew it, my plate was laden with pancakes, strawberries and whipped cream and a beautiful china cup filled with my favourite oolong tea.

We all tucked in and the conversation moved to Scottish wedding traditions. Mrs Crook regaled us with a story of her wedding. Her husband had been “blackened” she told us and couldn’t get it all off for a whole week. While the others laughed heartily, I sat looking confused.

Mrs Fitz filled me in.

“The groom would be covered from head to foot in all sorts of difficult-to-remove substances. Soot, treacle and feathers were favourites but sometimes tar or boot polish were also used. Then he was paraded through the village for all to see. Soot to represent the hearth, treacle for sweetness and feathers for comfort, ye ken.”

“Where I come from a lass puts a sixpence in her wedding shoe for prosperity.” Mrs Graham added. 

When we had all finished, Mrs Crook and Mrs Graham cleared the table as Mrs Fitz presided over the pile of presents. One by one she handed them to me to open. The first was a gorgeous Scottish Thistle china tea set from Jenny and Geillis.

“‘Tis traditionally the maid of honour who gives the tea set at a wedding,” Geillis explained “but as ye dinna want a bridal party, Jenny and I wanted to get it for ye for yer birthday.”

I was overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness.

“Thank you both, it’s lovely.” I said.

Next from Mrs Fitz was a cookery book, “The Joy of Cooking.” This caused much laughter around the table as they all knew that I was culinarily challenged.

“‘Tis a tried and true book for beginners. I still have my mother’s copy and still use it now and again.” Mrs Fitz said.

Mrs Graham presented me with a blue vase. It’s funny but up until then I had never owned something as simple as a vase. I had never been in one place long enough to warrant buying one but when I unwrapped it, I knew that it was a sign. It was time to put down roots.

The next gift was a set of hand embroidered handkerchiefs from Mrs Crook. The needlework was so fine. I thanked her and commented on the time it must have taken to stitch it so beautifully. She scoffed saying that she was sure that I could do just as well.

“Unfortunately my experience of stitching only relates to flesh not fine linen.” I answered putting a smile on her face. “Thank you all. You’ve all been too kind.”

The kindness and warmth shown by these women made me think about how I had never had a group of female friends. I wished that my mother were here on not only my birthday but the morning of my wedding. It must have shown on my face as I was engulfed by hugs.

There was one gift left unopened. I untied the ribbon and the paper opened revealing a small velvet box. I lifted the lid and inside was a silver brooch made of two intertwined hearts topped by a crown. The crown was studded with sapphires. I gasped at the sight wondering who would have bought such an expensive gift. When I looked again I noticed a folded note in the lid of the box. It read “To my beautiful bride to be, may our hearts become entwined as these are. You are and will always be my Queen.”

I blushed at his effusive words as Mrs Graham explained the brooch’s significance.

“It’s a Luckenbooth. It’s customary for the groom to pin this on at their betrothal. The symbolism of the brooch goes back to the 17th century. The intertwined hearts are obvious, the crown is that of Mary, Queen of Scots, who’s husband, Lord Darnley, presented her with a brooch such as this. The sapphires, now that is not so common. Sapphires give you the gift of wisdom and good judgment. A blue sapphire will encourage you to seek the truth.”

I was touched that Mac had thought to give me such a thoughtful gift. My musing was interrupted by Geillis.

“So Claire, do ye have yer four wedding elements?” I looked blankly at her. “Ye ken, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?”

Even though it was a well known custom, not only in Scotland, I hadn’t had much experience with weddings of any sort and I had not given it any thought.

The five women put their heads together. 

“The dress could be her old. It’s been in the family for generations so it certainly qualifies.” Jenny announced. 

“Do ye have shoes to wear with it, Claire?” Geillis asked. I shook my head thinking that my sneakers or brown boots would not really cut it. “I thought as much. I have some ballet shoes that I brought just in case. I think we’re about the same size.” Well that was the borrowed sorted.

Mrs Crook had obviously thought about it as she pulled a brown paper wrapped parcel from behind her back. 

“I made this as a wedding gift for ye, lass. ‘Tis a bit personal so I didna want to put it with the others in the living room.”

I untied the string holding the package together and pulled out a shift. As it’s length fell to the floor I noticed the same exquisite stitching as the handkerchiefs. The diaphanous fabric was almost see through. Giggles trickled forth from the other women. 

“Weel, Claire, there be no imagination needed when ye wear that.” Geillis was seized by a fresh paroxysm of laughter.

Mrs Crook flushed slightly. 

“‘Tis the same as the one I wore on my wedding night. My Archie nearly had a heart attack when he saw it but he liked it fine enough.”

“Thank you, Mrs Crook, it’s beautiful.” I hugged her again wondering what I’d done to deserve this generosity.

“So that’s her something new. And for her something blue,” Jenny picked up the brooch from the table. 

That sorted, Jenny looked at the clock. 

“Time to start getting ready. I’ll draw ye a bath then we’ll be up to dress ye.” She whisked out the door in typical Jenny fashion. 

“Dress me?” I queried.

“Aye,” Mrs Graham answered “‘Tis customary for a lass’s mother and sisters to dress her on her wedding day but seeing as ye have neither we want to perform this wee service for ye. If you’re willing, of course.”

Overcome by their thoughtfulness I nodded as tears streamed down my face.

“I’d be honoured. Thank you all again, so much.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a soak in the lavender scented bath, I wrapped myself in the fluffy robe and made my way to the bedroom. 

They had everything laid out ready on the bed. In the middle of the room was a stool accompanied by a basin of water and a sponge. Mrs Fitz lead me to the stool and sat me down. 

“Just one last little tradition, dearie, before yer dressed.” The three older women lined up. Mrs Fitz knelt before me and lifted my feet into the basin. “‘Tis customary for a brides feet tae be washed by an older happily married woman. We’re all widowed now but we all had very happy marriages. We couldna decide which of us would do it so we thought that we’d all bless ye.” One by one they washed my feet then Mrs Graham who was last, dried them and anointed them with lavender oil. 

Geillis had my comb ready and dressed my hair in a style of the period. Then piece by piece the ensemble made it’s way from the bed to my body. Loving hands smoothed fabric and adjusted laces until it was complete. Geillis knelt before me with her ballet shoes and wrapped the ribbons up my legs. Lastly Jenny pinned the brooch carefully to the dress. They all stood back to admire their handiwork.

“Aye,” Mrs Fitz said “now yer ready to be brought to himself.”

A loud knock was heard from the front door. They all looked at each other. 

“Who in heavens name could that be?” Jenny exclaimed.

“Oh,” I said, “that’ll be Joe.”


	43. Reassured and ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe arrives and saves the day.

“That’ll be Joe.” I said in response to the knock at the door.

“Joe? Joe who?” Jenny asked in a bit of a panic as I left the room, running down the stairs.

Thinking that perhaps they were dealing with a case of a runaway bride, Jenny and Geillis tore after me. They stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. 

I had opened the front door and there he was, my best friend, travel weary, but with a great grin on his face.

“Well, well, well, Lady Jane. Don’t you look a vision of loveliness?”

I rushed into his arms before he had a chance to put down his bag.

“Oh, Joe it’s so good to see you. Thank you so much for coming.” I said earnestly.

I hugged him and clung to him like a limpet.

“Weel, Claire, ye canna let the man stand out there on the step. Come on in, Sir.” Jenny said in her Lady of the manor voice.

I let go of my hold on him and ushered him into the house.

Slightly embarrassed at my effusiveness, I introduced him.

‘Jenny, Geillis, this is my best friend, Joe. Joe Abernathy.”

“Abernathy, is it.” Jenny said, a little waspishly, looking Joe up and down, wondering to herself how a man of colour, an American no less, had such a Scottish name. “Well Joe, welcome to our home.”

Joe extended his hand. “Thanks, I’m very pleased to meet you, m’am.” He said as Jenny shook his hand.

I looked up to the top of the stairs, to where the three older women stood. I had just started thinking of them as my fairy godmothers, but at that moment the suspicion and wariness on their faces made them look more like Macbeth’s three crones.

I beckoned them down to meet him.

“Joe, this is Mrs Fitz, Mrs Graham and Mrs Crook.” 

Joe nodded politely. 

“I invited Joe to the wedding and he’s driven up from London.” I offered as an explanation, seeing the question on the ladies faces. “Joe and I work together, at the hospital.”

“From London, ye say. ‘Tis a long way and no doubt ye’ll be wanting tae freshen up.” Jenny said, in her best hostess voice “Mrs Crook, could ye show the gentleman to the guest room.”

“It’s ok, Jenny,” I said hurriedly. “I’ll show him. He’s my guest after all.” Before she had a chance to object, I grabbed Joe by the arm and whisked him up the stairs, leaving the other women looking at each other with suspicion as to what his arrival may mean to their well laid plans.

Ushering him inside the guest bedroom, I closed the door and leaned with my back to it.

“Well that was one hell of a welcoming committee, LJ.” Joe said with a wary smile on his face. “I can see what you were talking about.” 

“Joe, I’m so glad you’re here. I feel like I’m on a train that’s rushing towards a chasm, about to crash. I know I have to do this but I just need some reassurance that I’ve made the right decision.” I said desperately.

“Honey, come sit down.” He sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. I sat and laid my head on his shoulder for comfort. His arm wound around my shoulders companionably.

“To continue your metaphor, I can see you feel like you’re being railroaded but after all you told me, I think it’s the right decision.”

I looked up at him in surprise, not expecting the answer he offered.

“Look, Claire, I’ve had a long drive which gave me plenty of time to to think about your situation. Sure the whole supernatural powers thing is a bit of a trip, but I’ve always thought there was something special about you. At the hospital, you aced diagnosis. I know a good few specialists who welcomed you on their rounds, who spotted it too. Even if you didn’t know anything about this blue light thing, I always wondered why your patients seemed to recover more quickly. “

This was an aspect I had never considered. Seeing it now from Joe’s point of view, I knew it had a ring of truth. 

“As for this prophecy thing, well you and I have seen some strange stuff in our lives growing up in some unusual places. You know my folks were pretty religious and the Bible is riddled with prophets and their predictions. Who am I to argue the holy book?”

“So, what you’re saying is, you think I should get married?”

“Tell me this one thing, Lady Jane. Do you like the guy? Not love, but truly like him. Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” I answered in a whisper. “I do like him, in fact I like him very much. There’s something between us, a connection I can’t explain and yes, I trust him.”

“And putting aside everything else, and I mean everything else, could you be happy?”

I thought about those moments I had had with Mac. His tenderness, his concern even the little glimpses of jealousy that made me feel wanted. Yes, I could. I could be happy.

My face told Joe everything he needed to know. 

“Right then, go get hitched, honey, you have my blessing, but if you want me there, I’d better go get washed up and changed. You don’t want your best friend looking like a bum at your wedding.”

I hugged him tightly. “Thanks Joe. Thanks for coming all this way. Thanks for hearing me out and thanks for being such a good friend.”

“You’re welcome, Claire. Now go before people start to talk.” He kissed me on the top of my head and pushed me gently towards the door. “Oh and by the way, happy birthday.”

~~~~~~

Uncle Lamb had arrived while I was upstairs with Joe. Obviously he had been appraised of the situation and gave me a questioning look as I descended the stairs.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “He hasn’t come to help me do a runner. I just wanted my best friend here to share this day with me.”

I could see the look of relief on all their faces.

Uncle Lamb looked me up and down with a tear in his eye. 

“How I wish your parents could have seen you, Chick. You look beautiful.” He pulled me to him and hugged me as if for them too. My eyes misted over and tears threatened to fall. As he let go, he passed me his handkerchief. “Wipe your eyes, love. Can’t go to your wedding with a tear stained face.”

The ladies once again started to bustle around, tucking wayward curls back into the pins they had escaped from, straightening skirts and brushing off non existent fluff from my dress. Mrs Graham handed me a small posy of lavender and white heather wrapped around with a silver ribbon to match my dress. Jenny picked up a long, grey, woollen cloak and laid it over my shoulders.

Just fifteen minutes after I’d left him, Joe made his way down the stairs, washed and to my astonishment, in a kilt. He took one look at our incredulous faces and laughed. His rich bass echoed in the hall. 

“Hey, I’m an Abernathy.” he said as if to explain away why on earth he would have a kilt at the ready. “Actually it’s a funny story. I bought it for a fancy dress a couple of years ago when I was dating a Scottish gal, we broke up just before the party so never got to wear it. I just couldn’t let a chance pass me by.”

Mrs Fitz broke through the laughter that ensued.

“Weel ye look mighty fine in it, Dr Abernathy. If we’re all ready then, ‘tis time tae be heading off tae the Kirk.”

They each took turns at kissing me good luck and left Uncle Lamb and I to follow behind.

“So, Chick. Are you ready?”

I remembered the saltire on the wall in the Lairds room and the motto embroidered on it.

“Je Suis Prest. I am ready.”


	44. Today I marry my love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short teaser from Jamie’s point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I focus so much on Claire’s preparations but what has Mac been up to all morning. 
> 
> A lovely interaction between him and Murtagh.

_I awoke this morning to the sun shining through the window, a golden glow cast over the interior of the small cottage where I had taken refuge from the busyness that was the preparations for our wedding day. I heard a knock at the door as it opened just a crack and Murtagh’s dour countenance peered around it._

_“Time ye were up, lad. There’s still work to be getting on with. I’ve brought ye some breakfast. You’ll need yer strength today.” he said with a smirk._

_He set a basket on the table, as I dressed quickly and unpacked the fresh bannocks, ham, cheese and a thermos of coffee. I collected mugs and plates and we sat companionably to break our fast._

_“‘Tis madness up at the house, women scurrying about like mad things. They wouldn’t even let me inside. If it wasna for Mrs Fitz thrusting the basket through the kitchen door, we’d likely no have eaten this morn.” he said, munching on a still warm bannock spread with golden butter._

_“Ye’ve gone soft, old man.” I answered, punching his shoulder playfully. “I’m sure we could’ve fended for ourselves for one morning.”_

_We sat in silence as we ate and drank our fill._

_“Murtagh?”_

_“Aye, lad?”_

_“What do ye make of her...Claire?” I asked my godfather. “D’ye think my mother would have approved?_

_“Do I look like a gypsy to ye? Able to commune with the spirits?” He paused as if to really consider my question. “Your mother had the sweetest smile. Warm a man to the backbone just to see it. Claire’s smile is just as sweet.”_

_Knowing my godfather as I did, that was high praise indeed._

_“Enough of this gum flapping. There’s work to be done.” He said as he stomped out the door. He led the way up to the high meadow were the heather still bloomed._

_“I dinna ken why yer going tae so much bother. The Kirk looks fine as it is.” he grumbled._

_“I dinna think ye have a romantic bone in yer body. I need to win her heart. I’d do anything for her. Ye’d no understand having never lost someone yerself.” I answered as I carefully cut sprigs of heather and laid them gently in the box we’d brought with us._

_“Ye ken it all do ye lad.” He turned around to look down at the house. “I lost someone at the McKenzie gathering many years ago. My face had less weather on it then. She was a sauncy lassie, but she had another suitor. So I thought to prove myself to her, be the kind of man she’d desire, during the tinsel hunt, I alone killed a wounded boar, using just a dagger. The McKenzie was so impressed by the deed that he gave me the tusks. I had them made into bracelets and gave them to her as a wedding gift.”_

_“It was you?” I said incredulously. I reached into my sporran and brought out two silver tipped bracelets. I handed them to him. Jenny had given them to me from our mother’s jewellery box to give to Claire tonight. He took them carefully and turned them over in his hands._

_“You think yer the only one who has lost someone. At least ye have a second chance.”_

_“I’m sorry, Murtagh. Truly I am.”_

_“Och, ‘tis ancient history now. But I know what it is to love and not know if that love will be returned. So, I’ll help ye lad, to win her over.”_

_We worked until the box overflowed then walked to the Kirk. A couple of lasses had picked lavender and roses from the garden and had started decorating the pews and arbor that I had built with my own hands. Murtagh and I arranged the heather and when it was done, we stood back to admire our handiwork._

_“It’s time ye got yerself ready lad. Ye dinna want to be late for yer wedding.”_

_We returned to the cottage to wash and change. Murtagh had been to Inverness to collect my new kilt and plaid. Unlike my everyday ones, these were in the Fraser dress tartan, bright red with check of blue and green. Jenny had got Mrs Crook to sew me a new sark and stock of snowy white linen. I had on my best coat of navy blue wool cleaned with buttons polished._

_“D’ye have yer brooch, lad?” Murtagh asked. I reached into my sporran and withdrew my father’s brooch and handed it to him. The running stags of the Fraser clan adorned it. He ran his thumb over an imaginary blemish before pinning it to my shoulder._

_“We’d best be off, lad. Ye dinna want tae keep the lass waiting. Are ye ready?”_

_“Aye, Je Suis Prest.”_

 


	45. I do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a bit of this chapter is directly from the book with my own bits added. I take no credit for the quoted parts which belong solely to DG.

Despite the bright sunshine this morning, it was now overcast and cool and I was grateful for the warm cloak that Jenny had draped over my shoulders. On Uncle Lamb’s arm, I walked down the path past the broch. The Lallybroch or lazy tower, named for its slight lean, endowed the estate with its quaint name. The path continued around the side of the small hill until it came to the family’s chapel. An arbor had been erected just before the step and beautifully decorated with heather, roses and lavender. A small party of guests stood either side awaiting the bride as was customary. I was pleasantly surprised by the appearance of Roger and Reverend Wakefield standing beside a grinning Mrs Graham. 

My uncle stopped us under the arch. He stepped in front of me, patted my hand, kissed my cheek and moved to stand beside Jenny. 

Suddenly the door of the chapel opened, and the sun came out in the person of Mac. If I was a radiant bride, the groom was positively resplendent. My mouth fell open in wonder.

A highlander in full regalia is an impressive sight, any highlander regardless of how old, ill-favoured or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight bodied and by no means ill-favoured young highlander at close range is breath taking. 

The thick red-gold hair had been brushed to a smooth sheen that swept the collar of a snowy white, linen shirt with tucked front and lace trimmed wrist frills poking out of the midnight blue coat. A stock encircled his neck and the row of bright gold buttons down each side of the jacket opening, glinted as he moved towards me. His tartan was a brilliant crimson with green and blue check that blazed among the more sedate colours of the assembled guests.

The flaming wool was fastened at the right shoulder with a circular silver brooch in a familiar running stag design, and fell in a graceful drape, caught by a silver studded sword belt before continuing it’s sweep to the tops of his silver buckled, black leather boots. A basket hilted sword, dirk and badger skin sporran completed the ensemble.

Making a leg in a courtly fashion, he swept me a bow of impeccable grace, hand over heart murmuring “Your servant, ma’am.”, sapphire eyes glistening with emotion as they met mine.

Geillis moved behind me to relieve me of the cloak. Mac’s breath stopped momentarily as my dress was revealed and a look of recognition flashed across his face. He reached for my hand to lead me towards the door. I looked up at him in sudden panic. 

“I...I can’t marry you! I don’t even know your real name!”

“It’s Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser.” He pronounced it formally, each name slow and distinct.

A small gasp escaped my lips. Jamie! It was him. My brain went into overdrive. Jamie, the brother Jenny had spoken of and who shared her feline eyes. Jamie, Laird of Lallybroch. This meant that I was soon to become his Lady. Jamie, the man in my dreams whose face had been obscured in my visions but who I now recognised. Jamie, the young soldier in Paris. Impossible? Maybe not, considering Master Raymond’s coexistence. Could he also be a time traveler? Jamie, the love of my ancestor now to become my husband. Did he really abandon her? Me? Why did I feel her feelings? I considered the idea of the transference of souls I’d once read about and dismissed as a flight of fancy. But then why had her injuries manifested in my body? So many questions and no answers. But the prophecy had said Seamus. As quickly as the thought passed through my mind, I reprimanded myself. You idiot, of course, Seamus is Gaelic for James. This all ran through my mind for what seemed like minutes but in reality lasted but seconds.

I gave my head a little shake to rid myself of the confusion. Completely flustered I stuck out my hand idiotically.

“Claire?” he said bringing me back to the present.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

“Yes I know.” He said indulgently.

He took my hand and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow and lead me through the door.

The guests followed us into the candle lit Kirk and took their seats. The same flowers lined the aisle, attached to the pews with ribbon. A young Jesuit priest, Father Alexandre, stood at the altar awaiting us. We knelt at the altar, Murtagh and Jenny took their places as witnesses and the ceremony began.

The form of the catholic marriage service was as I had remembered it from the one and only wedding I had attended, that of Ronaldo and his Peruvian bride, Maria when Uncle Lamb was excavating a Mayan temple in South America. The words linking me with the virtual stranger at my side were much the same. The young priest stammered through the service with a thick French accent.

I stood automatically when it came time for the vows, watching in a sort of numbed fascination as my chilly fingers disappeared into my bridegroom’s substantial grasp. His fingers were as cold as mine and it occurred to me for the first time that despite his outwardly cool demeanour, he might be as nervous as I was.

I had so far avoided looking at him, but now glanced up to find him staring down at me. His face was white and carefully expressionless but his eyes sparkled. He looked at me as he had when I stitched the wound in his leg. I tried to smile at him but the corners of my mouth wobbled precariously. The pressure of his fingers on mine increased. I had the impression that we were holding each other up. If either of us let go, we would both fall down. Oddly, the feeling was mildly reassuring. Whatever we were in for, at least We were in it together. 

“I, James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser, take ye, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my wedded wife.” His voice didn’t shake but his hands did. I tightened my grip. Our stiff fingers clenched together like boards in a vice. “To have and to hold, from this day forth,” The words seemed to come from far away. “For better, for worse,” The blood seemed to be draining from my head. The boned bodice was infernally tight. “In sickness and health,” Although I felt cold, sweat poured down my sides beneath my stays. I hoped I wouldn’t faint. “Til death us do part.”

My turn. I stuttered slightly. “I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, take you, James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser, to be my wedded husband,” I said slowly, hoping that I got his name in the right order. I didn’t want to make the same mistake Lady Diana made at her wedding to Prince Charles. I stiffened my spine. Jamie had got through his vows half credibly enough. I could try to do as well. “To have and to hold from this day forth,” My voice came stronger now. “For better, for worse,” I hoped fervently for better. “In sickness and health,” Well at least I had some control over that aspect of our lives. “Til death us do part.” The words rang out in the quiet chapel with a startling finality. 

Father Alexandre asked “Do you have ze ring?”

“Aye.” Jamie reached into his sporran and brought forth a wide silver band decorated in the highlander lace style, a small and delicate Jacobean thistle bloom carved in the centre of each link. He placed it reverently on the bible the priest held. 

He made the sign of the cross over the ring as he intoned the blessing.

“Bless, O Lord, this ring, which we bless in Thy name, that she who shall wear it, keeping true faith unto her spouse, may abide in Thy peace and in obedience to Thy will, and ever live in mutual love. Through Christ our Lord.

“Amen.” Jamie said in a whisper. He took my right hand and slid the ring on my finger. He bent his head to kiss me. It was clear that he intended only a brief and ceremonial touching of the lips, but his mouth was soft and warm and I moved instinctively towards him. The familiar tingling flowed between us as Scottish whoops of encouragement and enthusiasm filled the air from the congregation. I barely heard it as I sank into it’s enfolding warm solidness.

We drew apart and smiled nervously at one another. From the corner of my eye, I saw Murtagh draw Jamie’s dirk from it’s sheath and wondered why. Still looking at me, Jamie held out his right hand, palm up. I gasped as the point of the dirk scored deeply across his wrist, leaving a dark line of welling blood. There was no time to jerk away before my own hand was seized and I felt the burning slice of the blade. Murtagh pressed my wrist to Jamie’s and bound the two together with a strip of white linen. I felt a gush of energy surge between us as our life blood mingled through our veins and a golden rope of light seemed to entwine around our joined wrists. Just then the sun shone through the stained glass window and the colours of the glass danced around us. Had I imagined the golden light? One look at Jamie’s face confirmed my thoughts. I hadn’t imagined it. He had seen it too.

“Sassenach, say the words after me. Is tu fuil ‘o mo chuislean,”

“Is tu fuil ‘o mo chuislean,” I repeated stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds.

“Is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh,” The words meant nothing to me but I obediently followed him phrase by phrase.

“Is leatsa mo bhadhaig, chum gum bi sihn ‘nar n-aon, is leatsa m ‘arum gus an criochnaich ar saoghal.”

The linen was untied, the wounds blotted clean and we were married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the many people who have left kudos and made comments. I know that there are many unanswered questions but I promise you that each one will be answered at the proper time.
> 
> Xxx


	46. In the bosom of friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding feast

There was a general air of exhilaration and relief as the guests made their way back to the house to await our arrival at the lavish luncheon organised by Jenny. Breaking a little from the customs of the gathering, Geillis had insisted on a few photos to commemorate the occasion, then left us to make our own way to join them. 

We were just rounding the bend near the broch, when the general stresses of the day, the crazy week of visions and prophecy and the uncertainty of my future caught up with me. I came to, lying in a damp patch of leaves, my head in my new husbands lap. He put down the damp handkerchief that he’d been mopping my face with.

“That bad, was it?” He grinned down at me, but his eyes held a certain expression that touched me, in spite of everything. I smiled shakily back.

“It’s not you.” I assured him “it’s just been a lot to take in this week and even though I’m a surgeon, I don’t deal very well with the sight of my own blood.”

His mouth twitched as if he was trying to subdue a grin, and pushed a stray curl behind my ear. I started to sit up and winced at the burning feeling in my wrist. The cut had opened again, probably as I fell. Jamie unwound the stock from around his neck and wrapped it around the wound.

“I thought that might have been what made ye faint. I was hoping it was that and not the fact that ye are now saddled with me. I should have thought to warn ye about it. I didna realise that ye weren’t expecting it until I saw your face.”

“What was it exactly?” I asked. 

“It’s a wee bit pagan but it is a custom to have a blood vow as well as the regular marriage service. It goes back a longways and some, especially those who are wed at the gathering, still include it.”

“A blood vow? What did those words mean?

He took my right hand and gently tucked in a stray end of the improvised bandage. 

“It more or less rhymes when ye say it in English. It says:

‘Ye are Blood of my Blood and Bone of my Bone,  
I give ye my body that we Two might be one,  
I give ye my Spirit, ‘til our lives shall be done.’

A lot like the regular vows just a bit more...ah... primitive.”

I looked at my wrist. “I suppose you could say that. We’ll need to get some antiseptic on these cuts. We don’t want to end up with an infection. You never know what germs were on that blade.” I said, my doctors brain taking over.

“Actually I did think about that and had Geillis disinfect it for me just before the service. She thought it should be enough, and I had myself tested for anything that may have been in my blood. I didna want to harm ye in any way.”

I was surprised and grateful that he had had the foresight to think of my wellbeing. “I can assure you that my blood is clean too.”

“Aye, she figured it would be, ye being a doctor and all. Are ye feeling better now, Sassenach, can ye walk or do ye need me to carry ye?”

As much as I knew he would have been able to, the faintness had abated and I assured him that I could make it under my own steam. “Thanks...um...Jamie, I’ll be fine.” Using his real name would take some getting used to after calling him Mac all week.  
He took my arm and tucked it back into his and we made our way up to the house.

Another cheer was raised when we arrived in the dooryard. The wedding guests had lined up to form a guard of honour leading up to the front steps. Branches of alder were raised for us to walk beneath. I asked Jamie what the meaning of it was.

“The alder tree represents endurance, strength and passion. ‘Tis another old custom to imbue those qualities on our union.” He explained. 

Angus overhearing our conversation laughed. “Ye’ll be needing all three tonight, lad.” 

We got to the bottom of the steps and Jamie stopped. He picked me up and carried me up the stairs and across the threshold. The guests followed us and handshakes, hugs and kisses were plentiful. Jenny, in her usual manner, announced that the meal was ready and we made our way to the dining room. The large table was set for sixteen with the family silver and the best china. Crystal glassware twinkled, awaiting the inevitable beverages. 

Jenny showed the guests to their seats. Jamie and I were placed at either end of the table as was proper but not conducive to conversation between us. I supposed that we had plenty of time to talk later. Jamie was flanked by Uncle Lamb and Master Raymond. It appeared to me as a representation of the holy trinity: Uncle Lamb as the father figure, Jamie, the youngest of the three, as the son and Master Raymond, the mystical one as the Holy Ghost.

On one side of me sat Jenny, closest to the kitchen in the event that she was needed, and on the other, Reverend Wakefield. On his side of the table sat, Mrs Fitz who’d been given a reprieve from kitchen duty and Jenny’s Uncle (and also Jamie’s I now realised) Dougal. Next to him were the inseparable Angus and Rupert, Jamie’s distant cousins and childhood companions. During the week, Jenny had regaled me with stories of their exploits as youngsters, obviously omitting one small detail of course, that Mac was the third member of the group of miscreants. Between Rupert and Uncle Lamb sat Mrs Graham. It seemed fitting that the one mother figure from my childhood sat beside my surrogate father.

Jamie’s, usually dour, godfather, Murtagh sat beside Jenny a rare smile on his face and next to him Mrs Crook. Mrs Fitz had told me that Mrs Crook had served the family for years after the death of Ellen Fraser. An outwardly shy woman, she was fierce in her dedication to the Frasers and today reaped the reward of being included in the intimate circle of guests.

My best friend, Joe was placed next to her in the middle of the table. Joe was a relaxed and congenial man who was comfortable in any company. He was just as happy having a pint or two with the hospital’s orderlies at the pub as he was in a tuxedo, sipping champagne at a hospital gala with members of the board. This made him a valuable addition to any dinner party.

Beside Joe was my only childhood friend, Roger. I almost dreaded the embarrassing stories the two could exchange, Roger telling of my awkward teenage years and Joe revealing tales from our time at university and the hospital. Geillis rounded out the party next to Master Raymond.

Platters of food arrived at the table in the capable hands of Mary McNabb and two local girls who had been employed to assist with the serving. Angus and Rupert, self appointed bartenders, filled everyone’s glasses with their choice of beverages. Once the glasses were filled and the meal served, everyone set to the task of enjoying themselves.

As expected, the pairs of Rupert and Angus and Joe and Roger kept the guests entertained with descriptions of the exploits of both Jamie and myself. No need for an embarrassing best mans speech at this wedding. The foursome must have covered just about every sordid tale about us over the next couple of hours. 

When everyone was replete and the food cleared away, Jamie stood, glass raised.

“I’d like to propose a toast. To a lady of grace, a woman of strength and a bride of astonishing beauty. My wife, Claire Fraser.” he said deliberately, with more than a little pride in his voice. The rest of the party stood as one and responded, “To Claire.”

All but Uncle Lamb resumed their seats as it was his duty as my only relative to respond. 

“Thank you, Jamie. I would also like to propose a toast, to the happy couple, may they have a long, happy and trouble free life together.”

Again glasses were raised in congratulations. Angus and Rupert made sure that the glasses were kept topped up. I could see that Geillis would be needing a good stock of her hangover tea in the morning.

Uncle Lamb continued. “We have another occasion to celebrate today. That of Claire’s twenty fifth birthday. Happy birthday my darling girl.” 

Roger started a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ joined quickly by the rest of the assembly as Mary appeared with a large cake complete with twenty five candles. It was set before me and I dutifully blew out the candles. 

“One last thing before I bore you all to tears, and trust me I have been known for reducing a whole lecture theatre to sobs, I would like to thank you all for your contributions to this wonderful feast. I realise that a brides family customarily provides the wedding feast and as her only living relative, that responsibility fell on my shoulders. But due to my illness and the other circumstances beyond my control, you have all shown such generosity that I would like to thank you individually.”

He went on to mention each person’s contributions. Reverend Wakefield had supplied a huge wheel of cheese. 

“I have a parishioner who keeps me and the mice in cheese that would last a month of Sundays.” he explained.

Mrs Fitz had made the delicious puddings and pies. Dougal had supplied a small keg of whiskey. 

Rupert and Angus had been responsible for the pheasant and grouse so beautifully cooked by Mary. They began to argue who had shot the biggest bird when Dougal told them in no uncertain terms to “Haud yer wheesht!”

Mrs Graham had made the delectable birthday cake, Master Raymond had brought beautiful fresh fruit and vegetables from the gardens at the clinic and Geillis had provided a range of herbs to flavour each course.

Roger, true to form, had supplied even more whiskey and Joe had found an all-night liquor store on his drive up to purchase our favourite bourbon. Thanks went to Mrs Crook for the lightest bannocks this side of the border. Murtagh had procured fine French wine through their cousin Jared and Jenny was given a round of applause for coordinating the whole day.

I was humbled by the profusion of kindness by the friends around the table, many of them I had known but for a short time. I expressed this to Jenny.

“That’s what family’s do, Claire, and now you are part of our family.” I felt the tears well in my eyes. For twenty years I had, besides Uncle Lamb, had no family and now I had been welcomed into theirs.

The party moved to the living room. Jamie and I mingled with our guests individually. It was if we were avoiding the inevitable. Every now and then, I looked up to find him watching me, a gaze that radiated his feelings for me. Feelings I wasn’t sure I could yet reciprocate. I was chatting to Joe, catching up on cases at the hospital, when I felt a pair of arms encircle my waist. 

I surprised myself when instinctively , I leaned back, my head resting on his chest. When did I start feeling so comfortable with him? 

Slowly he turned me around. His eyes raked my face as if to memorise every inch.

“Are ye ready to go upstairs, Sassenach? ‘Tis getting late.”

I nodded knowing that the time had come for us to leave the safety net of the family and friends gathered there around us to venture into the unknown that was our marriage.

We said our good nights and Jamie took my hand.

“Come, Sassenach.” He said quietly as he led me up the stairs.


	47. The joining.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coming together of bodies and souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW towards the end

How, the name of all that is holy, did this happen? I asked myself.

Three weeks ago, I was single, living in London, finishing my residency at the hospital and now I was standing in the bedroom, of an eighteen century manor house, with a husband I barely knew, about to lose my long protected virginity, to fulfill some ludicrous prophecy.

Jamie leaned against the door, watching me. The air of embarrassment between us deepened. It was Jamie who finally broke the silence.

“Ye dinna need to be afraid of me, lass.” he said softly. “I wasna about to jump ye.”

“I didn’t think you would.” In fact, I didn’t think he would touch me, until, and unless, I invited him to, regardless of what he believed about his role in the prophecy. He was a gentleman but the fact remained, I was going to have to invite him to do considerably more than that, and soon. 

The prophecy dictated that I had to ‘join’ with him on my 25th birthday and the clock was ticking. Only two hours left until that deadline.

It would have been easier if I had found him unattractive, but I couldn’t deny that he was stunning. That glorious mop of hair that was every shade of red, those cat like, blue eyes that changed colour depending on his emotions, that chiseled face that belied his Viking heritage and his body that would rival that of Adonis.

How on earth would we begin? I was so nervous, my knees trembled and had I not been biting my bottom lip, it would have been quivering. At this rate, we would be standing there, just looking at each other for the next two hours.

Jamie made the first move. He reached for my hand and led me to the canopied bed and bade me sit. I expected him to sit beside me but he pulled up a chair and sat facing me. He took both my hands in his. They were large, square and warm and engulfed my smaller ones. The familiar electricity flowed between us.

“Tell me about yourself?”

“What?”

“Look ye, lass. We know what needs to be done and it won’t take long. We have a bit of time to talk and get over being scairt of each other.” This blunt evaluation of our situation actually relaxed me a bit. “Are ye scairt of me?” he said with a hope that his suspicion was unfounded.

“No, Jamie, I’m not scared of you. I’m just...it’s just... I don’t know what to do.” I said nervously. “I know the mechanics of it, of course, I am a doctor after all but it’s not the same as actually...doing it.” I felt like an awkward teenager and looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I mean, you have much more experience, I expect, which I suppose is a good thing. One of us should know what we’re doing.” I felt like I was blabbering.

“Actually, Sassenach, I dinna have that much experience. I’ve lain with but two women in my life. The first time was just after my Mam died. I was but seventeen. Rupert and Angus got me roaring drunk and took me to a brothel. I’m ashamed to say that I was so drunk that I dinna ken anything of that night and woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover and smelled of cheap perfume. It wasna my proudest moment, lass.”

“And the other?” I asked, knowing that I already knew the answer to the question. A sense of déjàvu crept over me.

He looked deep into my eyes as if he read my mind.

“I think ye ken the answer to that question, dinna ye, Claire.”

The dream, vision or what ever it was, of my past life remembered, I nodded. “But how is it possible?” I asked, again having an idea of what he might be but still needing confirmation of my suspicions. “How could you have been there and now here?”

“‘Tis a bit of a story. I think I need a drink and ye certainly will when I tell ye the tale. Will ye come sit over here,” he indicated the table near the window. “and I’ll tell it ye.” He helped me up from the bed and still holding my hand, led me there. 

The table had been laid with a small feast, pate, cheese, figs, grapes, cornichons, a baguette, the obligatory bottle of wine and a small basket of strawberries. I gasped at the memory. It was the same as the picnic that the Claire of the past, had shared with him. I now understood the depth of the feelings that he obviously had had for her, to have remembered details and bothered to recreate the same small menu as then.

“Ye remember it, Claire.” More a statement than a question.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I saw it. When Master Raymond...when I went back, in the visions.”

“Wine or whiskey?” He asked, lifting a bottle.

“Whiskey, definitely.” I answered, thinking that I would probably need as much fortification as possible to continue the conversation.

Jamie poured a good measure in each glass. He more than likely needed it to. He raised his glass.

“Slainte.”

“Bottoms up.” I replied, taking a good swig.

He sat in the chair across from me. From the look on his face, he was trying to work out where to start. Once he did, he spoke slowly and deliberately.

“I’m a traveler, Sassenach, a time traveler. I ken you saw both Raymond and myself in your past life, but you dinna ken how it works. Usually it runs in families, ye ken, like the colour of ones hair. I get my hair from my mother and the traveling from my Da. Although Frasers have been travellers since time immemorial, not all can do it, like all McKenzies dinna have red hair.”

“Genetics 101.” I said.

“Sorry?” He looked at me quizzically.

“Nothing, really. Just that we studied genetics at university, recessive genes and all that.”

“Oh, aye, ‘tis just like that. I got both the red hair and the ability to travel, Jenny got neither. As a Fraser, its a right of passage on our sixteenth birthday to go to the standing stones at Craigh na Dun to see if we can hear them.”

“I don’t understand? You can hear them?”

“Aye. The standing stones are a portal. Through time. For certain people, at certain times of the year, the veil of time is at it’s weakest. Those that can travel, hear the stones. ‘Tis first like the buzzing of a thousand bees, then as ye get closer ye can hear sounds from the past, shouting or sounds of battle and the like. D’ye remember the song that Gwyllyn sang at the Ceilidh?

I remembered it well. The story of the woman of Balmain.

“My father took me through the first time. He brought me to Lallybroch to acquaint me with my family in that time. They were not all that surprised to see us. The family legend was well known to them and my father had met them once or twice before. ‘Twas after that, that I ventured back alone when I was 19. I had a thirst for adventure and with my father’s blessing, I made the journey. I made my way to Lallybroch and met Ian Murray, the factor’s son. He was about to go a’soldiering to France so I joined him. It was then I met her, Claire. Ye ken then what happened, Sassenach.

Yes, I knew the rest of their story but not why he hadn’t returned. My face must have shown distress at the end of the story.

“I didna abandon her, truly. I was stuck. Caught in a war I couldna get out of. Then Ian was injured and I fell ill with a fever. They sent us back but too late.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I was too late, she was gone and my son sent away. We came back to Lallybroch to heal, Ian with his leg and I to try to heal my heart. A piece of my heart had died with her, a piece that is now healing after all these years, healed by yer presence.”

Tears of my own, streamed down my face as I listened to the angst and regret in his voice. My hand reached for his. 

“You really loved her didn’t you?”

“Aye, more than my own breath, I didna want to live and when I came home, home to my own time, I couldna ever forget her. That is why I’ve never lain with another, I felt it a betrayal to her memory, until now.”

He poured more whiskey and we drank to her memory, hands still linked. He lifted my hands, palm up to his lips. My breath hitched in my throat. His lips kissed each hand in turn then travelled to the soft skin of my wrists, paying special attention to the dark line left by the blood vow. A warmth filled me, settling in my very core.

“Will ye have me, mo nighean donn?” He asked me as if pleading for forgiveness.

“Yes” I answered nervously, knowing that the time had come, but frightened of not the act itself but of what it may unleash.

“I ken yer anxious, Claire, but yer safe.” He said firmly. “Ye have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. I ken that the first time can often be vexing but if I take my time it shouldna be too painful.”

I knew that he meant it, that he would be gentle and considerate. 

He led me to the centre of the room and stood before me. His hands ran over my shoulders and then pulled me to him in a firm and comforting embrace. My head nestled against his chest and he kissed the top of my head before lifting my chin. 

“May I kiss ye?” 

“I suppose now that we’re married, you don’t really need to ask.”

“I ken that’s the way of it with some people, but I respect ye too much to take advantage.” He said courteously.

“Thank you, Jamie, and yes you may.” I answered, relaxing at his declaration.

Our lips met, hesitantly at first but our passion grew quickly, fuelled by memories of the past. My body seemed to melt into his as we kissed, our hands roaming over each other. Needing breath, we parted.

“I suppose we canna go tae bed in our clothes.” He said, a cheeky half smile playing on his lips.

“These layers would certainly present a challenge.” I gave him a little nervous smile, indicating my costume.

“Weel then, if ye like, I could...er... help ye wi’ the laces and such.”

His hands trembled briefly as he began to undress me. He lost some of his self consciousness, though, in the struggle with the dozens of tiny rings through which the laces were threaded. 

“Ha!” He said in triumph as the last one came loose, and we laughed together. He carefully laid it over the armchair with a kind of reverence. He looked from my left hip to my right, trying to figure out how to tackle the next piece of clothing. 

“Skirts next.”I said, turning around and reaching around to the back, indicating the tucked in ribbon. He slowly pulled the end until the knot released. I think he expected the skirt to slither down around my feet but didn’t account for the panniers holding them up. He looked puzzled, lifting one eyebrow, until I raised my arms. He smiled as he realised what it meant. His superior height came in handy when it came to lifting the voluminous garment over my head. Again, he took the utmost care in the placement of the clothes. 

The panniers did up at the front and their removal was straight forward and finally one tug of the bow, dropped the petticoats to the floor. He picked them up and they received the same careful treatment. I was now left just in the sheer shift made lovingly by Mrs Crook.

I turned around and his breath caught in his throat, as he glimpsed my silhouette through the fabric.

“Now you” I said quickly, before I lost my nerve.

I unbuttoned each gold disc slowly then sliding my hands up under each shoulder, pushed the coat back so it slid off down his arms. That half smile of amusement lit his face. My fingers moved to the buckle of his belt, fumbling with the stiff leather. I huffed in frustration as I tugged to get it loose. His large hands guided mine and the clasp sprang free. As the yards of tartan slipped from his hips, his arousal made itself known under the long sark. I assumed correctly that he had dressed, or not dressed as any true Scot did.

He bent his head to kiss me. It went on for a long while and his hands roamed down to cup my behind.

“Christ, Claire, ye have the roundest arse.” he said in my ear, his voice husky with desire. He pressed me firmly to him, and I could feel that he was more than ready to get on with the business at hand. With some surprise, I realised that I was ready too. In fact, whether it was a result of the late hour, the whiskey, his attractiveness or my body’s anticipation, I wanted him quite badly.

He was more than ready and picked me up in his strong arms and carried me to the bed. He sat holding me on his lap. He spoke a little hoarsely.

“Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether, if ye wish. Anytime until we are joined. I dinna think I can stop after that.”

In answer, I put my arms around his neck and twisting, pulled him down on top of me. Raising himself slightly, he pushed my shift up to my waist. His hand slowly trailed down to the slippery cleft between my legs. He cupped my mound, and one finger made it’s way lazily inside me. It was soon joined by another as his thumb found the small nub at the top of my slit.

My hips thrust towards his hand of their own volition as I became wetter. I reached for him, inviting him to take me to him. Looking down at me with a gaze of sheer adoration, he entered me. Inch by inch, he sheathed himself into my tight entrance, stopping as he felt a resistance. He silently sought permission to penetrate my maidenhead and with the slightest of nods, I gave it. I gasped in pain as he tore through and filled me. He paused as my sudden rapid breathing brought on by the sharp pain, subsided.

“Oh, mo chridhe, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stop, not now.” I urged him pushing my hips closer, my body begging for more, begging for what it was programmed for, for completion.

He drew back and thrust forward, his pelvic bone brushing against my clit with each plunge. A golden glow began to surround us as our passion rose. Faster and harder, with every move edging us closer to the end. Suddenly, a starburst of light exploded around us as we finished together. It filled us with a euphoria and sense of power that melded our souls together. It seemed to raise us from the bed and we floated through the massive orgasm that engulfed us and with each aftershock, we slowly returned to settle on the bed. Our breathing slowly regulated as the light slowly faded leaving only the normal glow of candlelight.


	48. Getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically Jamie and Claire getting to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really suitable for work

Lying together afterward, it seemed natural for him to cradle my head on his chest. We fitted well together, and most of the original constraints were gone, lost in shared excitement and the novelty of exploring one another.

“Are ye alright, mo liaide? Did I hurt ye?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m ok, Jamie, a bit sore but alright, truly. It was painful at first but then I liked it. I liked it very much.” I assured him, a little shyly, running my hand over his still shirt clad chest. I wondered what it would be like to feel his skin on mine. 

I could see that he was wondering the same thing.

“Jamie?”

“Aye, Sassenach?” he said as he ran his fingers through my messy hair, picking out the odd pin that hadn’t already fallen out.

“Did you see it, the glow?” The warmth of his body made me snuggle closer and he responded by drawing me to him, his hand resting on my breast.

“Aye, mo maise, and felt it. I’ve n’er felt anything like it before. Is that’s what it’s like when ye call on the blue light in yer healing, lass?”

“It was at the beginning but I didn’t do it. I didn’t ‘call’ it as you put it and then it was like an explosion. I felt filled with it, like it came from every cell in my body.”

“Aye. I ken what ye mean. Why d’ye think it was golden? It was, wasna it? That’s what ye saw?”

“Yes, maybe we can ask Master Raymond what it means.”

“Aye,” His fingers drew lazy circles on my breast causing the fabric of my shift to rub over my nipple. I could feel it harden and a pleasant heat rising between my legs. Jamie’s thumb brushed over it and I felt, rather than heard, an amused rumble come from his chest.

“D’ye like that, mo nighean donn?”

A small squirm and a sigh answered his question. I lifted my head to look at him. Desire flooded his eyes. I moved my body up a little so that I could reach his lips and slowly kissed him. My new position brought me closer so that our hips were aligned and I could feel him getting harder against me. My hands lost themselves in his russet curls as I held his head. I felt bold and peppered his face with kisses. His forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks and the point of his chin. He lay quite still allowing me my exploration, that half smile on his lips and crinkles at the side of his eyes. His hands moved slowly down my back to rest on my buttocks. He gently squeezed them, pulling me harder against him. 

His hand moved around to between my legs. I winced. He pulled away, concern in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, mo chridhe. Does it pain ye?” 

“Just a little,” I answered. 

He eased himself out from underneath me and got up from the bed. 

“I’ll be back in just a moment.” he said as he moved towards the door. 

“Don’t go.” I pleaded, feeling insecure, as if my pain had driven him away. 

“It’s ok, lass. I willna be long.” he said reassuringly. 

I lay there wondering where he’d gone, what he was doing. I chided myself. You idiot, he’s probably just gone to the loo. 

Five minutes later, the door opened and, holding it open with his shoulder, he made his way back into the room. He carried a bowl in his hands, a couple of towels over his arm and a small brown glass bottle between his fingers. He placed them on the bedside table and sat beside me. 

His hands went to the hem of my shift. “May I?” he asked. I nodded shyly. Gently, he lifted my shift up above my waist. He lifted my hips up and placed a towel under them. From the steaming bowl, he drew out a soft flannel and wrung it out. Tenderly, he washed me, the hot water soothing the ache and washing the stickiness away. He rinsed it in the bowl, turning the water a pale pink. I was not completely naive but didn’t expect as much blood. Again he applied the warm cloth, teasing my nether lips apart softly as he cleansed them. He laid the cloth aside as he picked up the other towel and tentatively patted me dry. Jamie picked up the bottle. As he opened it, my nose detected the scent of lavender. With the utmost care, he rubbed the infused oil in and around my opening. I moaned softly at his touch, feeling a fluttering like butterflies in my stomach, my vaginal walls clenching 

“Is this ok, lass, I’m not hurting ye?” He asked anxiously. 

“Oh God no, no you’re not hurting me, Jamie.” I reassured him, “Thank you. I...it’s just...well...that you would do that...for me.” I was humbled that he would attend to me in such an intimate and thoughtful manner.

He withdrew his hand and I sighed, wishing he would continue his ministrations. 

“Mo ghaol,” he said as he laid his hand on my cheek. “I would do anything for ye. I can bear my own pain but no yers. I hope ye dinna mind but I spoke to Geillis about it. She said ye might be a little tender after the first time.”

My eyes welled up. His consideration warmed my heart. He tidied up then busied himself at the table. He turned around with a tray of the delicious food from the picnic that had been laid out. He brought it to the bed. 

“Are ye hungry, Sassenach?”

“Famished!” I replied, surprisingly myself. I’d been too nervous to eat much that evening and had probably drunk more than I should have.

He climbed up on the bed and sat next to me. He broke a small piece from the baguette, spread it with pate and held it to my lips. It was delicious. I, in turn, picked up a cornichon and offered it in the same way. He took a bite and I popped the other half in my mouth, relishing in it’s briny flavour.

“Now, lass, tell me about yerself. What were ye like as a wee lassie?”

For the next hour or so we sat feeding each other tidbits as I told him of my unusual upbringing. I told him of my parents, what I could remember, and of their untimely demise and of the adventures on the digs Uncle Lamb had taken me to around the ancient world. Peru, Argentina, the Himalayas, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Thailand, Vietnam. Many other places on every continent. Times spent in the foremost museums of the world, studying artifacts from just about every period in history. I told him of our holidays here, in Scotland, my uncle researching with the Reverend while Roger and I played and as we grew older, explored the highlands.

“So ye are truly just childhood friends then.” He said with a modicum of relief.

I looked at him in surprise. 

“If I’m not mistaken, I think I detect a wee bit of jealousy.” I said with a giggle. 

His face turned a bright shade of scarlet right up to the tips of his ears.

“Well, lass, when I saw ye together at the Ceilidh, his arm around ye and the way he sat so closely, whispering in your ear, I thought... maybe...”

My giggles turned into a rolling belly laugh. 

“What? Roger... Roger and me...” My sides were starting to hurt, I was laughing so hard. Jamie looked so embarrassed. “Oh Jamie, I’m sorry but...” The image of Roger as a boyfriend let alone anything else amused me to no end. “Roger is like a brother. There is absolutely nothing romantic between us.” My laughter abated a little then another vision of the two of us as a couple, started it again. “Me and Roger...oh my giddy aunt.” I had laughed so hard, I ended up with hiccups. 

Jamie looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, then seeing the funny side, joined me with a glorious chuckle. His honey sweet baritone rang around the room. 

I had never seen Jamie laugh, really laugh. I seen that half smile of amusement with a shaking of the head when Rupert told one of his bawdy jokes but never like this. He was always so serious. To see him let go, warmed my heart.

He moved the tray aside and pulled me off the bed. He caught me up in a tight embrace and swung me around. As we came to a stop, he cupped my head in his hands and kissed me soundly. 

“Och, Claire, it does me so good to see ye laugh. Ye’ve no had an easy time of it lately with yer uncle being ill and this, the prophecy and all but ye’ve born it well. Yer a strong woman, Sassenach, with a compassionate heart. I’m a lucky man and proud to call ye my wife.”

His hands moved down to my throat then my shoulders as he took a step back, his face serious once again. They traveled forward to the ribbon that held my shift together. 

“Claire... I want to look at ye. All of ye.” I had no objection knowing that this was inevitable. To be perfectly honest, I wanted the same. His fingers nimbly found the end of the ribbon and pulled it ever so slowly. As it came undone, he pushed it from my shoulders and it pooled at my feet.

He took two steps back and his gaze raked me up and down. Embarrassed to be totally naked, I covered myself, blushing in the process.

“Christ, Claire, you’re magnificent.” He uttered in awe. 

Bolstered by his admiration, I let my arms fall to my sides.

“Fairs fair,” I said bravely, more bravely than I really felt.

Jamie hesitated. 

“Claire, there’s something I need to tell ye.”

“Later, I want to see you too.”

Jamie had a look on his face that I couldn’t fathom but he lifted his sark over his head and watched it as it fell to the floor. His head remained bowed, a look of shame on his face. At first I could not understand it. He was beautifully made, with long, graceful bones and flat muscles that flowed smoothly from the curves of chest and shoulders to the slight concavities of belly and thigh. I stepped forward and put one hand on the muscular pectorals. My hand trailed across him as I walked around him to take in the view from the back. As I raised my eyes, from his muscular legs and taut bottom. I saw what he obviously didn’t want me to see. 

“It’s you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks ever so much for all your encouragement and comments


	49. The scars of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie tells his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is not suitable for work.
> 
> I have used some of the first outlander book in this chapter. I don’t claim it as my own.

“It’s you.” I said in a whisper. 

His back was covered with a criss cross of faded white lines. There were small lines of silvery scar tissue in some spots, where the welts had crossed, and irregular patches where several blows had struck the same place, flaying off skin and gouging the muscles underneath. I must have drawn in my breath at the sight, for he turned his head and caught me staring.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. Sorry ye had to see it. ‘Tis a pitiful sight, I ken it.”

I reached up to caress him, wishing I could fix it. As I laid my cheek gently against his back, a tear rolled down my cheek and made contact with the lines of puckered skin. I kissed it gently. I stepped back and walked towards the door. 

Thinking I was going to leave, he strode across the room and caught my wrist. “Dinna leave, mo nighean donn.”

I put my hand over his comfortingly. 

“I’m not going anywhere, especially like this.” I said, indicating my state of undress. “I just need to get something.” I knelt by the bag that someone, probably Geillis, had brought from the clinic and left in the room for me. I hoped that what I was looking for would be there. I reached into the side pocket and found it. Davey Beaton’s journal.

I turned to him and taking him by the hand, led him to the chair.

“Sit down, Jamie. I need to show you something.” I flicked through the battered notebook until I found the entry. I passed the book to him and studied his face as he read it.

“20 year old local male known to self, JAMMF, found unconscious by RC at Craig na Dun . Symptoms: Deep lacerations to 80% of back in a crisscrossed pattern. Considerable blood loss. Wrists showed signs bruising and grazing. Appearance of injuries would suggest flogging????

Had regained consciousness by the time the writer arrived. Refused to be taken to hospital or complete a formal report. Agreed to be transported to clinic of the aforementioned Frenchman for treatment in partnership with local GP (self).

Treatment: Site irrigated with infusion of turmeric and garlic. Poultice of Equisetum arvense and Calendula officinalis, applied to wounds and changed four hourly. Patient in a state of delirium for first 48 hours lapsing into unconsciousness intermittently. Pt consent given when lucid for IV fluids. Acupuncture administered for pain relief. Willow bark tea given orally after 48 hours once pt fully conscious.”

His expression was blank, an expression I had seen countless times before in my time at the hospital. The kind of expression one would see when giving a less than favourable prognosis.

“JAMMF. It’s you, isn’t it.” He looked blankly straight ahead.

“Aye, ‘tis me.”

I knelt in front of him and clasped his hands. I brought them to my lips and kissed his knuckles. 

“Jamie, It’s ok. We don’t have to mention it again.”

“Aye, but ye have to put up with a disfigured husband.” He said in disgust. “Ye have to see it. I should have told you before.”

“Tell me now then, but only if you want to.”

Then I waited. 

He took some time, but then started his story. 

“Ye remember that I went back to Lallybroch after Paris. I was heartsore and didna want to come back here, back to my own time. I thought if I did, that I would be dishonouring her memory. I thought that I didna deserve the easy life that the 21st century offered. I deserved to be punished, to pay for her suffering. I grieved for Claire and for the son I would never know. The laird offered for me to stay at Lallybroch. It was while I was there, it happened.”

“Who did this to you?”

“Lobsterbacks. Flogged me twice, in the space of a week. They’d have done it twice in the same day, I expect, were they not afraid of killing me. No joy in flogging a dead man.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, as I stroked his arm, trying to bring some comfort. 

“I shouldn’t think anyone would do such a thing for joy.”

“No? Ye should have seen him.”

“Who?”

“The redcoat Captain that skinned my back for me. If he was not precisely joyous, he was at least verra pleased with himself. Randall was his name.”

“Randall!”

“Ye ken the name?” He eyed me suspiciously.

I remembered the look of fury Jamie directed at Frank on the day of the re-enactment.

“Well, I know a Randall. You remember Frank.” Frank, had spent many hours at the Manse , researching his genealogy. I remembered his excitement one day when he had found an ancestor mentioned in dispatches. A Captain Jack Randall, if my memory served me right. This was not the time to disclose this to Jamie.

“Aye.” His eyes narrowed at the memory. 

“Why were you flogged?” I asked abruptly, trying to turn the conversation back. It was hardly tactful but I badly wanted to know, and was too nervous to phrase it more gently.

He sighed. “The first time was escape and the second was theft, or at least that’s what the charge sheet read.”

“What were you escaping from?”

“The English,”he replied with an ironic lift of his brow. “If ye mean where, Fort William.”

Roger and I had visited Fort William as teenagers, on one of our jaunts through the highlands during our holidays. The place made me shudder and I couldn’t get away quick enough.

“I gathered it was the English,” I said, matching the dryness of his tone. “What were you doing in Fort William in the first place?”

He rubbed his brow with his hand. “Oh, that. I think that was obstruction.”

“Obstruction, theft and escape. You sound a right dangerous character.” I said trying to lighten the mood.

It worked at least slightly. One corner of his mouth turned up and his dark blue eyes glinted at me.

“Oh, I am that.”he said “a wonder ye think yerself safe in the same room as me, and ye an English lassie.”

“Well it’s just as well I’m a better judge of character than the redcoats then. So what exactly is obstruction? I must say it doesn’t sound like a major crime.”

He took a deep breath. “I suppose it’s whatever the English say it is. In my case it meant defending my family and their property, and getting myself half killed in the process. It was seven years ago. There was a levy put on the manors near Fort William, food for the garrison, horses for transport, and such like. I wouldna say many liked it, but most would yield what they had to. Small parties of soldiers would go round with an officer and a wagon or two, collecting the bits of food and things. One day in October, yon Captain Randall came here.”

I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“We’d thought they’d not come so far. The place is a good distance from the fort, and not easy to get to. But they did.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “The laird was away, gone to a funeral at the next farm. I was up in the fields helping with the harvest and the lairds young daughter, was alone in the house. I came down to fetch a piece of harness from the barn when I heard shouting and screaming from the house. I went in to find two soldiers rifling the kitchen, stuffing sacks with flour and bacon. I punched one and threw the other out the window, then ran into the parlour to find two others with the lairds daughter. She had put up a bonnie fight, one of the soldiers had a blood nose, and I took them on, when Randall came in and put a pistol to her head. I had no choice but to surrender to them. Randall threatened her with rape if I didna. They tied my hands and hauled me out and tied me to the wagon. They stripped off my shirt and Randall beat me across the back with the flat of his saber. I struggled but two of the soldiers had her by the arms and Randall threatened again to hurt her. She spat in his face and he grew angrier. After that I dinna ken what happened. One of the soldiers had hit me across the head with his musket. When I woke, I was trussed up in the wagon with the chickens, jolting down the road toward Fort William .”

“I’m sorry, Jamie. It must have been terrible for you.”

He smiled suddenly. “Aye, chickens are verra poor company.” He didn’t go into details of the punishment, perhaps thinking of my sensibilities. He continued. “I could hardly move for a day or two, after I’d been flogged the second time, and then I had a fever. Once I could stand once more, some friends of the laird, made shift to get me out of the camp. The laird, himself, took me up to the stones, knowing that the healing in this time would be better. So he made me go back through the stones and the rest is in yer wee book here.”

I stood and moved behind him. Having seen the wanton damage, I couldn’t avoid a mental picture of the process. The muscular arms raised and tied to the whipping post. That same post that gave me the shudders when I was there with Roger. The rope cutting into his wrists, the copper head pressed against the post in agony. A lash brought down with such fury to have shredded him to the bone.

Involuntarily, I reached out, as though I might heal him with a touch and erase the marks with my fingers. I knew it was too late for that. If this was the best Master Raymond could achieve, then there would be little I could do now. He sighed deeply, but didn’t move as I traced the deep scars, one by one, as though to show him the extent of the damage he couldn’t see. I rested my hands at last lightly on his shoulders in silence, groping for words.

He placed his hands over mine and squeezed lightly in acknowledgement of the things I couldn’t find to say.

“Thank ye Sassenach, ye seem to have a knack for letting me know yer sorry for it, without making me feel pitiful about it.”

I slid my hands down from his shoulders over his chest and leaned down to rest my head beside his and kissed his neck softly. His hand entwined itself in my hair, pulling me closer, and turned to reach my lips. My hand was gently grasped and he pulled me around to stand in front of him. He gazed at my breasts longingly and he traced under each with the back of his finger, his nails softly scraping my skin. He pulled me towards him by the hips until I was on his lap. 

“Claire, you’re the most singular woman. Compassionate, strong and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” he said, his voice husky. 

His lips planted themselves on mine briefly before wandering tortuously down my neck, stopping at the hollow of my throat. A moan escaped my lips as he tentatively cupped my breast and his lips moved towards it. My nipple seemed to find it’s own way into his mouth as I leaned forward to thrust my fingers through his curls and pull his head closer. I could feel him harden beneath me searching for my hot, wet core. His hands slid under my bottom and gave it a squeeze as he stood, lifting me with him. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked us to the bed. 

“I must have ye, mo ghraidh. I must have ye now.” he growled. 

He almost threw me on the bed in his haste and I pulled him down on top of me.

“Come to me, Jamie. Come to me now.” I gasped as he slid home.


	50. A wee gift or two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie endows Claire with something special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely NSFW.

We lay back in each other’s arms, resting on the pillows, tired and sated, but unable to sleep

“Jamie?”

“Aye, mo chrideh?”

“Well, um, I know you don’t have a vast knowledge of women in general, that you’ve only lain with the other Claire, but you know more than I in such matters...” I blushed, not quite knowing how to go on.

“Out with it, Sassenach.”

“Is it usual, what it is when I touch you and you lie with me. Is it always so between a man and a woman?”

“It was something like this. Ye ken that at that time, Claire was the love of my life, and I thought I would never ken that feeling again. But no, this isna usual, ‘tisna the same, ‘tis different with ye, ‘tis something much more. I canna explain it, mo leannan. When we laid together, and I came into ye, deep into ye, I thought... I thought my heart was going to burst.”

I nodded. I understood. The feeling of each cell of your body vibrating, causing friction and heat, akin to a nuclear explosion.

I was considering what our future would bring. When would we really discuss it? OUR future, together.

As if to answer my thoughts, Jamie spoke.

“Claire, if it’s alright with ye, I’ve arranged a few days away, a honeymoon of sorts. Nowhere exotic, but to a place that’s special to me. We dinna ken each other well yet, and we have much to discuss about where we go from here, so I thought the time alone would help. Just us.”

“Thank you, Jamie. That’s so thoughtful. I think that would be lovely.” I answered. “I also wanted to thank you for the beautiful birthday gift. I didn’t expect it.”

“‘Twas no’ just a birthday gift ye ken. A luckenbooth is a love token a groom gives his betrothed. I’m glad ye wore it Sassenach. It gave me such pleasure seeing it pinned to Mam’s gown. Mo ghriade, ye looked sae beautiful.”

Up to that point, I hadn’t thought of the significance of the dress to him. Yes, I knew it was Jenny’s mother’s wedding dress but as I hadn’t known Jamie’s true identity until I was outside the church, it didn’t occur to me that, of course, it was his mother’s too. 

“I was proud to wear it. I really don’t have anything from my own mother. It was very generous of Jenny to allow me to wear it. I see you got a new kilt for the occasion.”

“Aye, Fraser colours. Murtagh went to Inverness to fetch it for me.”

“But it’s not the same as the other. “ I said a little confused. 

“‘Tis the dress tartan. Most clans have a couple of different tartans. One for everyday and one for special occasions. The red is too bright for hunting and such. Ye’d ne’er catch a thing wearing that so we have the other to blend in with the forest and the outdoors in general.”

He had been holding my hand, his thumb running over the ring I now wore. 

“It’s a beautiful ring, Jamie, so intricate.” I said admiring the details. 

“That too was my mother’s and now it’s yours.” He said, the emotion evident in his voice. “My father left it to me when he died, for me to give to my bride in turn. I had it engraved so that is truly just for ye.”

I slid it off my finger and read the verse etched on the inside. ‘Da mi basia mille’ 

“Catullus?”

“Aye” he said surprised. “‘Then let amorous kisses dwell, On our lips, begin and tell” he quoted.

“‘A thousand and a hundred score, a hundred and a thousand more.’” I finished, my eyes filled with tears. I was overwhelmed with the declaration of love. I was also wondering if I could ever love him with the same intensity that he professed.

“Ye ken Catullus, lass?” 

“You’re not the only one that had a classical education.”

He carefully took the ring from me and replaced it on my finger then wrapped it in his as if to stick it there permanently. He got up out of the bed to the table where his sporran lay. He took something from it and returned to me. 

“I have two last gifts for ye. These were a wedding gift to my mother from a secret admirer. Jenny insisted you have them.”

I looked down at what he had placed in my hands. It was a pair of bracelets made of boar tusks mounted at each end with silver filigree. 

“Jamie! These are exquisite, I can’t accept them though. Surely they should belong to Jenny.” I protested.

“As I said, Jenny insisted and when she has her mind set on something there’s no budging her. We Frasers are stubborn, ye’ll soon ken that. She said that they needed a tall woman to wear them and that’s something my dear sister will never be.” He said with a smile. The smile deepened as he draped something else around my neck. I looked down at a string of pearls resting on my breast. 

“They’re Scotch pearls. They too belonged to my mother...and now they belong to my wife. They’re one of the few things I have left of her. Very precious to me...as are ye, Claire. Another wedding gift from another admirer. She would never say who gave them to her.”

 

“She must have been an amazing woman to have so many suitors. A woman of mystery.”

“A mystery that revealed part of itself, just this morning.”

I sat up straighter, curiosity getting the better of me. “Do tell.”

Jamie picked up the bracelets and turned them over in his hands as he related the tale as Murtagh had told it to him.

“The man has the soul of a true romantic despite his gruff outer shell.” I commented when Jamie had finished.

“Aye, and loyal. I didna think I would have the will tae live after my father’s death. ‘Twas Murtagh who got me through it.” Jamie then told me about his father who, on Jamie’s reappearance at Caigh na Dunn, on seeing his grievous wounds and thought him on deaths door, had had a stroke and died. “I didna see him die. Didna see him buried. I thought it my fault for a long time. ‘Twas Murtagh who finally convinced me that it wasna. He’s buried up in the family graveyard beside my Mam and my brothers, Willie and baby Robert.”

I understood the pain of losing parents and drew him to me in a comforting embrace and kissed his temple. 

“Will ye come with me tomorrow to the Kirk yard? I’d like to tell them about today.” he asked, looking up at me, from where he rested against my breast.. 

“Of course I will.” My own parents had been cremated and their ashes scattered over the white cliffs at Dover where they had first met so I had no place to go to visit. This was as close as I would ever be to actually meeting Jamie’s parents. 

“Thank ye, Sassenach.” Jamie replied. He turned and reached up to pull me down to him once more to love me before we nestled into one another and fell into a deep needed sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up in the pre-dawn, to whispered sounds of Gaelic and a feather soft caressing between my legs. As I opened my eyes, they met Jamie’s smile . He was leaning on one elbow, looking down at me with a look of adoration and wonder in his eyes. His head lowered and his lips touched mine with the same softness as I felt lower on my body. As our kiss intensified, so did the friction on my lower lips. He raised his head as I reached down to reciprocate.

“No, Sassenach. Not this time...this time is just for ye.” His voice was low and mellifluous. “I want to watch you, I want to see ye as ye lose yerself.” 

“But...Ja...Jamie...” I gasped, as my breathing became more rapid.

“Much, an aingeal luachmhor agam, much.” he crooned.

I drew back my hand as my back arched, my body begging for more. I felt his fingers enter me, one at first, probing gently then joined by another. His hand rotated by 180 degrees and he began to move inside me, as a maestro plucking the strings of a Spanish guitar, each time flicking the spot I had always heard of as mythical. Who better to discover it than a man who believed in the supernatural.

My body stiffened, tense, like a tightly wound spring. A feeling like really hot, but not unpleasant, water built up into a small tsunami surrounding and building up pressure inside my body. It rode up my abdomen, spine, and worked down my extremities, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. The waves caused spasming along their route as my skin tightened, nipples got harder and more sensitive, and my face and chest flushed . I shook as if seized by a fever. I panted as his thumb brushed over my clitoris as if it was lighting a fuse. Once ignited, it burned quickly along the short wick to the inevitable explosion.

“Jesus...H...Roosevelt...Christ!” I uttered as the orgasm overtook me. I pulled his head down, buried my face into his neck and bit the soft skin at his throat as another tremor passed through me. He hissed in pain then chuckled softly in victorious mirth. 

“Oh my God, Jamie.” I moaned as he held me tightly to him. I felt him hard against my thigh.

My mouth sucked at the place where my teeth had left a mark, trying to soothe it. Now he groaned as if in answer to my sound. My lips gently kissed down his neck towards his well defined pecs, searching for his nipples. A fine golden down covered his chest. I found my prize and nibbled at the rubber like bump before drawing it into between my lips. I sucked hard as a gasp escaped his lips. 

Smiling into his chest, I hatched a plan. A plan to take him over the edge as he had me. Fairs fair after all, I thought to myself. Inexperienced as I was, it took some courage but I was not completely clueless. 

The doctors break room at the hospital, had a great variety of reading material, from back copies of ‘The Lancet’ to trashy historical romance novels. The latter had been the literature of choice for Joe and I on our breaks. Sometimes we’d read them to each other over a cup of tea on the long night shifts. Other times we’d deposit a book in one another’s locker, bookmarked with sticky notes questioning the possibility of a particular position the characters had engaged in or a commentary on a particular passage. 

These novels filled with heaving bosoms and a focus on the main man’s nether regions, besides the medical textbooks, were the sum total of my sexual knowledge up until this moment. What I was about to embark on now was seduction according to one of our favourites by Hannah Howell, ironically entitled, ‘The Scotsman who saved me.’

My hand snaked it’s way down to his hardness and my fingers curled around it. His breath hitched as my thumb grazed it’s tip. I released his firm nipple as I kissed my way down across his taut stomach to the nest of russet curls that blanketed his groin. I wanted nothing more than to give him pleasure to match that that I had just experienced. My hand moved of it’s own accord, instinctively knowing what my brain did not. A groan reverberated in his chest as his hips rose to meet me. Nuzzling him with the tip of my nose, I moved from root to tip and tentatively back down again mouthing him gently with my lips. My tongue then swept up his length as I took a deep breath. My mouth opened wide to admit him. I felt his hand wrap itself in my hair, guiding me gently over the tip as I lowered myself onto it. The velvety skin was soft on my tongue. My mouth closed on him as I swirled my tongue around the tip. A combination of rubbing, sucking and kissing him brought him to the brink, thrusting into my mouth. 

He pulled back on my hair and I released him with an audible pop. He lifted me up the bed.

“Claire, I need ye now” he insisted as he raised himself over me.

“Jamie, I’m yours.” I breathed as I welcomed him to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘The Scotsman who saved me’ is a real book. I was looking for trashy novel titles and found it. Of course I used it No, I haven’t read it.
> 
> Thanks again for your encouragement and comments.


	51. Meet the parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

I stretched, waking from a blissfully deep sleep, to find a still warm but empty space beside me. A watery sun peeked through the window, lighting up the dust motes, like a universe of stars floating about. Muscles I didn’t know I had, ached a little after the night of unaccustomed exercise. 

The door opened to admit Jamie, towel around his waist, his hair wet and tousled from his shower. Drops of water dripped from his auburn mop to his broad shoulders and down his brawny chest. 

“Good morning, mo bhean alainn.” he said smiling as he moved to the bed and kissed me with minty breath. 

“Good morning to you too.” I smiled. “What was that you called me?”

“It just means ‘my gorgeous wife’. I must teach ye the Gaelic, mo nighean donn.” He leaned over to kiss me again this time on my neck. His wet hair dripped cold drops on me as he nuzzled into the hollow of my collar bone.

I shrieked. 

“Jamie! You’re getting me all wet.”

“What again, Sassenach?” he said, cheekily, his grin spreading from ear to ear, ducking as I swatted at him. He walked away towards the wardrobe as he pulled his towel from around him to dry off his hair. I copped a good view of his rather sexy bottom.

“‘Tis probably time ye got up, Sassenach.” he said as he got dressed. “We have a little way to travel today. I’ll meet ye downstairs. If I don’t get something to eat soon, I’m liable to take a bite out of ye.”

“I believe you’ve already done that.”

“And I look forward to doing it again soon. Don’t be long or there’ll be nought left but crumbs.” He was now dressed in a pair of firmly fitting jeans and a sky blue polo shirt. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek before heading downstairs. It only then occurred to me that I had only ever seen him in 18th century costume. I was almost disappointed to see him in anything other than his kilt. I felt like I was being dragged back into the twenty first century after a week of dwelling in what had almost exclusively passed as the eighteenth.

As I got up, I remembered my nakedness and looked for my shift. I found it neatly folded on the chair. Everything in the room was tidy, nothing out of place. The sign of a well ordered mind. Another small thing I was learning about my new husband. I collected my dressing gown and toiletries and went to the bathroom to freshen up. As I stood under the steaming water, I wondered what my, our, future would bring. Everything had happened so fast that we hadn’t discussed anything about what this marriage would mean to both of us. 

I still had so many questions. How would this affect my career? Where would we live? Basic questions that any normal couple would have discussed and decided well before embarking on a commitment as permanent as marriage. But we were no normal couple, virtually still strangers. I was a healer with some kind of supernatural powers and he was a time traveler, for goodness sake. I hoped that the few days we were about to spend together, would give us time to sort out a mutually agreeable arrangement.

Drying off and throwing my robe back on, I went back to the bedroom to get dressed. Someone had been in and made the bed and the outfit I had worn the previous day had gone from the chair where Jamie had carefully placed it. The luckenbooth brooch was neatly placed on the dressing table alongside the pearls and boar tusk bracelets. 

I quickly dressed in my favourite jeans, shirt and jumper. It seemed odd not to be struggling into stays and petticoats. I admitted that it took a good quarter of an hour off the process, but I kind of missed the routine.

Making my way down to the kitchen, I could smell the delicious aroma of bacon and eggs and fresh bread. Jenny’s smile welcomed me as she invited me to sit and eat. Jamie and Murtagh had already made inroads into the more than generous offering laid before them and were discussing matters of the estate.

“Good morning, Claire. Did ye sleep well?” Jenny said with a twinkle in her eye. 

“If ye did, lass” Murtagh interjected with a chuckle. “then Jamie wasna doing his duty by ye.”

Jamie and I both blushed and Jamie punched Murtagh on the arm. I sat down beside Jamie and helped myself to breakfast. I had to admit that our nocturnal activities had given me quite an appetite. Jenny poured me a cup of tea as the conversation resumed to it’s earlier topics.

“Jenny,” I said “I haven’t had a chance to really thank you for everything you did yesterday. You’re a marvel. Everything looked beautiful. The flowers were gorgeous.”

“Yer welcome Claire. Tis what ye do for family, but it wasna I that was responsible for the flowers. ‘Twas these two who built the arbor, collected the heather from the high meadow and the roses and arranged it all.”

My surprise and delight showed on my face. I had no idea that they had gone to so much trouble to make the day so special. I rose from my chair and kissed them both on the cheek in thanks.

The two men blushed at the recognition of their deeds. 

“Thank you. All of you for all the trouble and for your thoughtfulness.” I choked up, my eyes welled with tears of gratitude.

“Och, lass. Twas no trouble.” said Murtagh. “Ye didna have anyone else beside yer Uncle to arrange things. We couldna have ye married without all the trappings.”

I could see that he took his position as Jamie’s godfather seriously and had been proud to have been able to step in for his parents at such an auspicious occasion.

We had finished our meal and I offered to help Jenny clear up. She brushed me away and glanced out the window. 

“I’m fine to do the tidying up. Ye should be getting yerselves off if yer to beat the rain. It’s like to be plowetery by midday.”

Jamie stood and took a look out himself. 

“Aye, yer right, Jenny. Moran taing mo piuthar.” He said as he gave her a hug.

“Get ye gone then.” She replied. “Enjoy yerselves. We’ll see ye in a few days then.”

Jamie took my hand and led me out to the hall. Coats, scarves and hats had been hung on the coat hooks ready for us as if by magic. 

“She really is a marvel, isn’t she.” I said to Jamie.

“Aye, that she is. Just like my mother. Always one step ahead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenny had been right. The sun that had fought through the clouds earlier, had lost its battle and grey clouds now blanketed the sky. A dampness descended, promising rain and I was glad of the warm outer layer provided by the coat. 

Jamie led me in the direction of the stables where Auld Alec awaited us. He had saddled Jamie’s black stallion, Donas and my mount, Brimstone. Jamie told me Donas translated to ‘mischief’ and true to his name needed a firm hand. Brimstone nibbled at my scarf, perhaps in apology for our previous misadventures.

“We’re riding?” I asked Jamie. 

“Aye, I hope that’s alright.” Jamie answered hopefully. “We could take the four wheel drive if you’d rather.” His face fell slightly. “Tis just we won’t be able to go where I wanted in the car.”

“No, Jamie it’s fine, truly. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting to be going on horseback. Actually I didn’t know what to expect, you keeping it all so secret.”

He smiled, relieved that his plan had not gone awry. He held Brimstone’s head as I swung up into the saddle then got up on Donas and with a wave to Alec, we headed off in the direction of the tiny family chapel that only yesterday had been filled with well wishers. I recalled Jamie’s request from the night before, to pay his respects to his parents and in a few minutes we were there. I hadn’t noticed the Kirkyard the day before. It was well kept, unlike others I’d seen in my travels, with fresh flowers adorning many of the graves. 

Jamie dismounted and helped me down from Brimstone. He tethered them to the fence, took my hand and led me to a row of three graves that were much newer than most of the surrounding gravestones. I read the inscriptions as we paused at the foot of them. 

“William Simon Murtagh McKenzie Fraser. Born: 6th March 1985 Died: 21st November 1996. Jamie’s big brother, who had died of meningitis when Jamie was just six. Jamie had idolised Willie and had followed him around everywhere as a child. 

Beside Willie, the gravestone read Ellen Caitriona Sileas McKenzie Fraser Born: 14th December 1960 Died: 31st October 1998 also Robert Brian Gordon McKenzie Fraser Born: 31st October 1998 Died: 31st October 1998. 

Jamie’s mother had died just after having given birth to baby Robert. Jenny had told me that it had been a long and difficult labour with complications that the midwife was not equipped to deal with. Having already had three uneventful births at home, there was no reason to expect any problems with this one. Ellen had died of a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in the lungs and Robert had been born with his cord around his neck and had not been able to be resuscitated. 

The double tragedy had devastated the small family and at just ten years of age, Jenny had assumed the role of woman of the household, although the dedicated Mrs Crook, who lived in a cottage on the estate, came in daily to help. Jenny, fiercely loyal to the family, essentially ran the household. Ellen had home schooled the children and after Ellen’s passing, Brian had employed a tutor for his two remaining children.

The last grave in the row was that of the previous Laird, Brian Robert David Fraser. Born: 15th November 1960 Died: 31st October 2010. The title was a rare one as after the battle of Culloden, many of the titles were stripped from the clans. The Frasers had managed to keep theirs due to a loophole in the law discovered by a canny lawyer of the time. These days it was only used as a courtesy title. Jamie now held the title of Laird Broch Turach.

Each headstone was written in Gaelic with a verse of some kind. I would ask Jamie about them later. Jamie reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of river pebbles. He held it out to me. 

“‘Tis customary to lay a stone on each grave when ye visit.” Jamie said solemnly. I took one for each headstone and laid it beside others that were there. I hadn’t noticed them before. Jamie followed, running his fingers over each name tenderly, as he greeted them.

“Mam, Da, this is Claire, my wife.” he said, essentially introducing me to his parents. He continued by telling them about his wedding day.

“Mam, she wore yer dress and now wears yer ring, just as ye would have wanted. Thank ye, Da, fer leaving it fer me. She looked sae bonnie, Mam.” He knelt at the foot of the graves. I stepped back to give him some privacy as he addressed his loved ones. He became so engrossed, that it was as if Jamie had forgotten I was there as he told them about the day.

He told them about collecting the heather and his mother’s roses to decorate the Kirk, about his new kilt and about the service. 

“I remember every moment, every second. I’ll never forget when I came out of the church and saw her fer the first time. ‘Twas as if I stepped outside on a cloudy day and suddenly the sun came out.” He regaled them with each little detail, the guests, the priest, the vows. 

“She’s a rare woman, even through the blood vow, she barely flinched, although she did faint on the way back to the house. She’s a surgeon, ye ken, a healer, a wise woman. She’s the one from the prophecy. My Sorcha. Mam, Da, I promise ye that I’ll love her as ye loved one another. “

He stood up and caressed the headstones once more in farewell. “We’ll visit ye again right soon.”

He stepped back and gave a small bow of respect then turned to me and kissed me gently.

“Thank ye, mo chridhe, for coming with me. It means a lot.” He glanced up at the sky. “We’d best be on our way before it starts to rain.” With that, we got up on our horses and rode off towards the tree line.


	52. A bumpy ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant ride turns to crap when Jamie loses it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. It’s been a crazy week so not much time to write.

The weather in the highlands can be mercurial. As the old Scottish saying goes, 'there's no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes!' Another saying says ‘if you don’t like the weather in Scotland, just wait ten minutes.’ 

Today was the perfect example. The day started with the sun poking its nose through the clouds but the clouds claimed victory, albeit a minor one, as we rode to our still mysterious destination. A light drizzle or as Jamie called it, a ‘smirr’, settled upon us. That annoying kind, that, if you’re driving, is barely worth putting your wipers on for but if you don’t, you can’t see out of the windscreen.

As we rode through the sparse forest, the colours of autumn were eye-catching and vibrant. The trees ranged from the evergreen Scots pine, to fiery reds and oranges of rowen and oak, and yellows and golds of beech and ash. A mosaic of leaves littered the forest floor, muffling the sound of the horses’ hooves.

We emerged from the dimness of the forest. Before us, the terrain became steeper, the hillside covered in gorse and heather. We’d been riding for a good hour and I wondered how far we were going to ride before taking a rest. My nether regions were still tender from our nocturnal activities and the friction of my jeans on the damp leather of the saddle, made it more than a little painful. 

Jamie turned to me and smiled. The smile soon changed to a look of concern when he saw the discomfort on my easy to read face. He reined in his horse.

“Sassenach, are ye alright? Ye look pale, as if yer in pain.”

“I am a little,” I admitted to him, not sure how to explain it in a delicate manner. My face flushed with embarrassment.

He dismounted and lifted me down from Brimstone’s back. 

“What is it, mo chridhe?”

“It’s just that...that... I’m a little sore after...well...after last night. And then the ride...” I explained hesitantly.

“Oh lass, I’m sae sorry. I shoulda thought, shoulda realised.” He said apologetically. “D’ye want to sit... or walk? There’s a bonnie view from just up there.” He indicated the slope before us. “Tis not far.”

The drizzle had stopped for the moment and the sun wormed it’s way through the clouds, strong enough to cause steam to rise from our shoulders. A walk would be welcome, a chance to stretch my cramped muscles. Jamie reached for my hand and we headed up the hill. We continued to climb, past the spot where the rude path petered out in clumps of undergrowth. We were among foothills here, the granite rocks rose higher than Jamie’s head.

We emerged then, onto the top of a small dun, and the hills sloped away in a breathtaking fall of rocks and green on all sides. Below us on one side, lay a long glen. Most places in the highlands gave me a feeling of being surrounded by trees or rocks or mountains, but here we were exposed to the fresh drafts of the wind and the rays of the sun, which had come out as though in celebration of our unorthodox marriage.

I experienced a heady sense of freedom at being out from the pressures of the previous week. The discovery of the supernatural powers and my past history had taken its toll on me physically and emotionally and the connection with nature was welcome. And while Jamie could plainly climb rocks all day without breaking a sweat or getting out of breath, I was nowhere near as fit. Noticing my red face, he led me to a rock and sat beside me, contentedly gazing out over the hills and the glen, while he waited for me to catch my breath.

I considered what the consequences to my sanity may have been if we hadn’t been wed and performed the necessary consummation. Uncle Lamb must have known more about them to have insisted that I marry, otherwise he would never have expected me to go through with it. I also considered the sacrifice that Jamie had made. He was now married to a woman he barely knew. I needed to acknowledge his kindness.

“Jamie?”

“Aye Sassenach?”

“I...well I just wanted to thank you for marrying me. This last week has been totally insane. You’ve been through a lot for me and I wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything you and Jenny have done.”

“ I thank ye for the compliment, mo nighean donn.” He said with a slight bow. “I should thank ye for marrying me, as well. To be honest, I didna feel I had much choice. I couldna see anything happen to ye. The alternative, according to the prophecy, could have lost ye to us all.”

“So you married me to keep me safe.” I said in wonderment, still amazed that besides the whole past life scenario, he would do this for a virtual stranger.

“Aye, that’s the jist of it. Ye have the name, my clan, my family and if necessary, the protection of my body. But to tell ye the truth, Sassenach, there is one another and even more important reason. I never thought I’d fall in love ever again but I have. I understand that ye may not feel the same way, not yet, but it is my fervent hope that one day ye will.”

I was overcome by his earnest declaration. Would I ever love him with the obvious intensity that he showed me? I certainly had been growing more and more fond of him and I had definitely enjoyed the sex. He was a considerate lover and a true gentleman but there were still so many questions. I hoped that a few of them would be answered over the next few days. I also questioned whether it was me he loved for myself, or was it guilt and the echo of a love lost in the past?

Noticing my silence, his brow creased. 

“Claire, I never asked ye, but was there anyone else ye had feelings for? Another suitor perhaps. Was there someone else ye’d have preferred to wed?

“Did I have a boyfriend, you mean? No, no I didn’t. I always seemed too busy studying. I once had a dreadful crush though.” I smiled at the memory. “He was a historian, a friend of the Reverend Wakefield. I was just 18 when I first met him in Inverness when I was on my summer holiday at the Manse. He was quite a bit older than me but he was intelligent, suave and sophisticated. He reminded me of a 1940’s movie star, you know, the Cary Grant type. I soon realised that he would never be more than a friend. Actually you’ve met him. He was at the re-enactment. Frank...Frank Randall.”

I felt rather than saw the fury rise in him. He snapped.

“Randall,” he spat, as he stood and turned, looming menacingly over me, a look of vitriol in his eyes. He grabbed me by the upper arms, hard, and shook me until my teeth rattled. “Dinna ever speak that name again in my presence. Do ye hear me?” He pulled me towards him, his face only inches from mine, the ferocity in his eyes, terrified me. “After everything he did to me, ye sit here and tell me that ye had feelings for him.”

When I looked into his face, it was if he wasn’t here, but deep in the past, reliving the agony.

I struggled until I broke from his grasp. My arm swung forward with speed and my hand connected with his cheek with an almighty smack. He reeled back, his hand to his face, his head shaking as if to rid himself of the memory. 

“It was Frank. Not that bastard, Black Jack.” I spat back with answering venom, in the same moment wondering why I was defending myself for an infatuation. I then wondered about the injury that Frank had inflicted at the gathering. I had not expected a mild mannered historian to be so adept with a sword. Regardless it was no excuse for Jamie to act like this.

“How do ye know that name? I never mentioned it.” His hands were clenched by his side as if he wanted to smash them into something, trying to regain his self control.

“Black Jack Randall is the many times over great grandfather of Frank’s. He was researching his family when I first met him.” I answered. “Frank told me about him and I put two and two together.”

“So he’s the spawn of that devil. He tried to kill me at the gathering and yer trying to defend him.” He turned and pounded his hands into the tall granite boulder that stood at the edge of the clearing.

“Jamie! Stop! Stop it now!” I grabbed his hands and turned him to face me. “Why would Frank want to kill you? He doesn’t know who you are or were. It was an accident. I spoke to him and he said that he had had his sword checked and it was approved. The Frank I know, would never have thought to fight with a real weapon.”

Jamie turned and walked away a few paces trying to collect himself. I heard his breathing, ragged, as if trying to control his rage.

“Jamie?” I stood, wondering if I should go to him or whether I should give him more time. I was frightened of the way he had snapped but understood that the memory of a lash, laid down with such fury as to leave that web of scars on both his back and his mind, may never recede. A classic case of post traumatic stress. I saw his shoulders shaking as his breathing changed pace.

“Jamie?” I spoke his name quietly as I now laid my hand softly on the quivering shoulder, turning him towards me. His tear stained face was bowed. I lifted the rugged chin with my finger so that I could look into his eyes. “Jamie, he’s dead. Dead and buried and mouldering in the ground for the last 200 years. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

He looked up at me, his long eyelashes clumped together with the moisture of his tears. He grasped my hands in his.

“Tis not that, that made me weep, mo ghraide. I ken he’s dead. It’s that...I’m sae ashamed that I hurt ye, that I blamed ye for knowing Frank. I ken he’s no Black Jack but it’s his face. That same face, pressed from the same mould. It was like he was there again. I was filled with such rage that I wanted to kill him but something inside, stopped me.” He knelt before me, his knees giving way, pulling me down to his level. 

Could Frank really look so much like his ancestor to make Jamie act in such an irrational manner? Once again genetics reared their ugly head. 

“Jamie, it’s ok.”

“No, mo ghaol luachmhor, it’s not. It’s not ok. I should never have hurt ye. I’m sae sorry. Can ye ever forgive me?” he pleaded, a look of such deep shame clouded his face, as he begged for my absolution.

I considered his plea, rubbing my sore arms which only a short while before had been locked in his hands as if in a vice.

“Yes, I’ll forgive you this time ,” I said. I paused. Then my tone changed. “But... if you ever lay a hand on me like that again, I’ll cut your heart out with a spoon.” I said, meaning it as a warning. 

I had seen the results of domestic violence and now having seen the anger that had flowed out from him, I wanted him to know that I would never condone such actions again.

He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a sgian dhu. He rose up so that he knelt straight backed. He unsheathed it and held it upright before himself by the tip. He spoke solemnly.

“I swear on the cross of my lord Jesus, and the holy iron that I hold, that I give ye my fealty and pledge ye my loyalty. If ever my hand is raised in rebellion against ye again, then I ask that this holy iron may pierce my heart.” He paused, questioningly. “Is it not enough, Claire? “ He looked into my serious face. “Do ye no want me anymore?” His face begged hopefully for a positive answer.

His earnestness melted my heart. I believed him. A highlander did not make such an oath lightly. I knew deep down that Jamie was not a cruel man at heart. Strong minded and passionate. Loyal and honest but not cruel. Did I want him? I asked myself. More and more, my heart answered.

“Yes...yes I want you.” I whispered, forgiveness echoing through my words.

He leaned forward, tentatively at first, then he pulled me to him, his fingers threading through my hair. He squeezed me tightly to him and kissed the top of my head as he held me close. 

A few drops hit my head and it took a moment to realise that it was not tears but rain. Jamie looked up and stood, bringing me up with him. 

“We’d best be on our way, lass. We’re like to get drookit if we dinna hurry.”

“Drookit?” I asked, thinking that I really needed Gaelic lessons.

“Aye, drenched, ye ken.” 

Hand in hand, we wended our way back down the hill to where our hobbled horses patiently waited. 

Jamie held Brimstone’s head as I got up into the saddle. He jumped up on Donas and turned to me. 

“Are ye right at a gallop, Sassenach?” I nodded, hoping that my rusty riding skills wouldn’t forsake me. “Right then, follow me.” he said as we took off across the glen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d just like to wish all my readers a very safe and Merry Christmas (or happy Hanukkah) and May the new year be filled with love, laughter, prosperity and inspiration for us writers. Take care out there xxxx


	53. An admission of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual this week between Christmas and New Years has been frantically busy with both family and work.
> 
> My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter.

The heavens opened and Jamie’s prediction of us getting ‘drookit’ came true. We had another half hours ride to our destination and by the time we arrived, we were saturated. Not only had the rain pelted down but the temperature had dropped quite quickly as the wind came from the north.

We pulled up outside a stone crofter’s cottage, which must have been at least a couple of centuries old and Jamie, once more, helped me dismount. I took Brimstone’s bridle and followed Jamie and Donas into the small outbuilding beside the cottage. I attempted to undo Brimstone’s girth but my fingers were so cold I couldn’t manage it. 

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” I cursed, annoyed at my fingers that refused to cooperate. Jamie came over to help and took my hands in his. He rubbed them to warm them. 

“Take yerself inside, lass. I’ll finish here.” He said as he undid the buckle, lifted the saddle and saddle blanket from her back and placed it on the saddle stand. I shook my head. 

“It’s ok. I can manage.” then proceeded to lead my mount into the stall and removed her bridle. I replaced it with a rope halter and tied Brimstone to the post. Fresh straw lay on the ground and grabbing a handful, I rubbed her down to dry her off. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jamie watching me approvingly. 

“I dinna ken ye knew so much about caring for horses, Sassenach.” He remarked.

“Uncle Lamb and I spent time in Ireland, in Knowth. There are Neolithic passage graves there.” I explained. “That’s where I learned to ride and the stable master insisted that I learn to look after my horse as well. He said he didn’t want me to think I was some Hyde Park lady who expected everything done for her.”

“Well, he was right tae teach ye. Not that I mind doing it fer ye.”

By the time I had finished, the cold had permeated through my wet clothes and I was shivering. The rain pelted the roof and the wind had picked up and howled through the door. Jamie had just finished feeding both the horses and checking the water when he turned to see me, arms crossed across my chest, trying to get warm. He strode over to me and grabbed my hand. He pulled me along with him as he headed inside the cottage. The wind caught the door and slammed it behind us. 

“Christ, Claire, you’re freezing. Into the shower with ye before ye catch yer death.” He opened a door to reveal a modern bathroom, not what I expected in an otherwise, original looking cottage. I stripped, dropping my sopping clothes on the floor and got in under the steaming stream of water. I was surprised to see my own toiletries in the caddy and my terry towelling robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door.

Once I’d thawed out and washed, I stepped out and dried myself on the soft, thick towel on the rail and snuggled into my robe. I hadn’t expected the room to be warm but it was and on opening the door, found the living room heated by a roaring open fire. 

Jamie had changed into dry clothes, sweats and a rugby top, and was towelling off his hair. A delicious smell came from the kitchen. I looked around and took in the interior of the, what had first appeared as a modest tenants cottage. 

In essence, the cottage was as it would have been two centuries earlier but had been brought into the twenty first century with the clever addition of modern appliances hidden within 18th century furniture. The bathroom, for example was hidden behind a beautiful old oak door and the stove set into the hearth looked like a cast iron range. Not quite what the average crofter would have been able to afford but still had been sympathetic to the time frame. Larger windows had been added to give extra light and more rugs on the floor than would ordinarily have been available. They were, however, essentially rag rugs, beautifully made by hand. The furniture too was handmade, hewn from local timbers. A table and a couple of chairs stood in the corner near the stove and behind it a curtained off alcove, which I could only assume was a larder of sorts. Against the opposite wall was was the bed, dressed in a eiderdown quilt. A couple of comfortable chairs and a small loveseat, pretty much made up the furniture. It was well appointed as the cottage of perhaps the factor of the estate may have had at the time.

As I looked around, I noticed my bag lay on top of the chest at the foot of the bed. 

I turned to Jamie questioningly. That half smile played on his lips.

“Jenny and Murtagh.” he answered my unasked query. “They came up in the Range Rover while we were riding here to leave provisions and the necessities. I use this cottage regularly when I’m out and about doing business. D’ye like it, Sassenach?”

I wondered what kind of ‘business’ Jamie was referring to. Again I realised how little I knew about my new husband.

I nodded. It was a perfect honeymoon cottage. A little place not too far from the civilisation offered by Lallybroch, given that Murtagh and Jenny had been able to set up while we were riding here, but private enough for us to be undisturbed for the next few days.

As warm and snuggly as my robe was, essentially I was naked beneath it and I felt a little exposed. Jamie, sensing this, came and wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead.

“I’ll get us something to eat while ye get dressed, mo leannan.” He turned towards the stove, stirred whatever tempting offering Jenny had left us and disappeared behind the curtain. I heard the click of a light switch and then a tuneless humming as Jamie set to organising our lunch. 

I quickly slipped into some dry clothes and by the time I’d dressed, Jamie had appeared with fresh thickly sliced bread, slathered with butter and bowls, in which to dish up, what I soon would find to be a delicious thick soup, perfect for weather like this.

“You’re sister really is a marvel. I’m surprised she’s not married with a tribe of children at her feet.” 

Jamie laid the food on the table and invited me to sit. The sad look on his face surprised me. 

“She was married, mo chridhe. Her husband, Ian, was my best friend. We were inseparable from the time I could walk. He was a year older than I but we did everything together. Our parents were best friends too. We always seemed to be celebrating one special day or another with the Murray’s. They were there for us through good and bad. Jenny used to tag along when Ian and I went stalking, saying that she wanted to know how to track and such but little did we know it was Ian she was stalking.” 

His face held that half smile as he reminisced, then it slowly disappeared. “Jenny eventually caught her prey and they were engaged just before Ian joined the army. A year later they were married and I was so thrilled to have him as a true brother as well as my best friend. He went off on his first tour in Afghanistan, at the same time I went through the stones on my own adventure and when I got back, Jenny was a widow.”

I stood, went to him and wrapped my arms around him.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry. It must have been so hard losing both your friend and your father in such a short space of time.”

“Aye, it was, but it was worse for Jenny as she thought for a time, she’d lost me too. She’s an amazing woman, Sassenach.”

“Yes, she is. Has she met anyone else? I mean it’s been seven years.”

“No, mo chridhe. Theirs was a love for life. Like the greylag goose, they mated for life. I’d be very surprised if she ever finds another.”

“I’m really sorry, Jamie. She would have made a wonderful mother.”

“Och she’s still that. Ye remember young Fergus? Fergus was Jenny’s foster son. He came to her when he was just nine years old. His mother was a French prostitute plying her trade in London and social services found him living on the streets. Jenny took him in and then, as soon as she could, legally adopted him. He’s now a true Fraser. He’s only one of the many Jenny has had over the past few years. All the others were short term but at one time, she had five little ones under her roof. Even though Lallybroch was left to me, ‘tis really Jenny’s domain and I’m glad for it.”

Now came one of the hard questions that I had on my list.

“Jamie?”

“Aye, Claire?”

“Do you...I mean...have you...um... do you want children yourself? I know you never had a chance to bring up William but...” My throat closed over with emotion, already knowing but dreading the answer.

“Aye, mo graidh, ‘tis my dearest wish to be able to pass on the good Fraser name to my own bairns.” 

It was as I’d feared and my sorrow showed in my face, as I wished upon wish that I didn’t have to tell him the news.

“Claire, I know the prospect of having a bairn can be frightening but ye ken I’ll be there with ye every step of the way. I never had that chance last time, with her, with Claire.” He took a deep breath. “We needn’t rush into anything straight away.” He placed his hand on mine. I turned away not able to look at his kind and understanding face as I considered how to tell him.

I cleared my constricted throat, willing the tears to remain back.

“Jamie, I have to tell you .” I paused, taking a deep breath to compose myself. “I...I may never give you a son like she did. The doctors...they said... I... I don’t think I can have children ... I have endometriosis. It’s a condition that inhibits the chance of getting pregnant. Mine is quite severe and I will likely never be able to give you the children you desire. I’m sorry, Jamie, I’m so sorry. I should have told you before we were married. I never counted on loving you, much less having children with you.” I burst into tears as much for myself as for him. I knew now that he had stolen my heart and now that each time I revealed more about myself that I gave him another cross to bear.

“Perhaps it’s for the best.” I looked up at him, as he gazed at me with absolute adoration in his eyes. “There’s...there’s so many things that can go wrong. Ye ken my own mother died in childbirth. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to ye. For ye to suffer.”

“I wouldn’t mind the pain.” I admitted. I could have born any amount of pain to make him happy. Now all those feelings, the connection between us each time we touched made sense.

“No but I would. I can bear pain myself but I couldna bear yours.” He clasped me to him. “It would take more strength than I have.” He kissed me tenderly on my neck as he slid his hands down my arms. 

He pulled back to look me in the eye. His blue eyes radiated his feelings. Then his expression changed to surprise and almost disbelief, as he realised what I’d said. “Claire? Mo leth eile, am I dreaming or did I hear ye right? Did ye really say that ye love me?”

I smiled a watery smile as I nodded. 

“Yes, my love, I did and I do with all my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish all my readers a very happy new year. May it be filled with love and laughter and in my case, inspiration lol
> 
> You spur me on to continue with my story and I really appreciate all your comments and encouragement.


	54. Twenty questions- part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire begins to ask questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a long delay between chapters.
> 
> A bad case of writers block and crazy hours at work.
> 
> Fingers crossed that the next chapter won’t take so long.

I’d declared my love for Jamie but would love alone, sustain a marriage. In all the fairytales, it’s at this point that the couple live happily ever after. With us, however, there were still so many unanswered questions and decisions to make before we could even think of a happily ever after.

It was time to play a game of twenty questions. I took Jamie’s hand and led him to the love seat and bade him to sit down.

“Jamie, we need to talk about where to from here.” I said rather bluntly, “I need to know what our future together will hold.”

Jamie sighed in resignation. “Aye lass, I kent we needed to have this discussion. What d’ye want to know?”

“I suppose we should start with where we are going to live.” That one question opened up a Pandora’s box, as it’s answer would determine the answer to other questions. 

“I thought we could start off here, no’ this cottage specifically,” he added seeing the concern on my face. “But here in the highlands. Ye’d be close to yer uncle. He’ll probably be here for a time still for his treatment. We could stay at Lallybroch. ‘Tis my home after all.”

“But, Jamie, what happens when I need to go back to work? I only have another five weeks before I have to go back to London.” My initial month was nearly over and Joe had intervened for me with the head of surgery, explaining my situation, giving me another four weeks. “I have a life there, my flat, friends.”

“Could ye not find somewhere closer? Ye’ve finished yer residency and I’m sure any hospital in Scotland would be glad tae have ye.” Jamie answered hopefully. “I ken ye’ve worked sae hard to get yer qualifications but things are different now.”

Things were very different, I thought. Not only was I now married and had a husband to consider, but there was the whole issue of my powers. How could I deny using them when they could make such a difference to patients but how could I combine all I’ve learned in conventional medicine with this supernatural ability. There had to be a way. Perhaps Master Raymond could shed some light on how this could be achieved. I had worked too hard to give it all up now.

Jamie could see that I was struggling with my thoughts and wrapped his arms around me. 

“Mo chridhe, ye dinna have tae decide now. We have time to talk it through.”

He was right. We had some time but I also had to let the hospital know as soon as possible. In the meantime there were other things that I needed to know. Jamie was a virtual stranger. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. Question two sat on the tip of my tongue ready to be asked when there was the sound of a car driving up to the cottage and an urgent knock at the door.

Murtagh stood there dripping wet. Jamie bade him enter. Murtagh shook his head.

“Sorry tae be a bother and interrupt yer honeymoon, lad, but there are ten kine caught in a bog hole just o’er the hill. Three have gone down and if we dinna hurry we could lose the lot.”

Before he could say anymore, Jamie had his coat and boots on.

“Sorry, Sassenach. I have to go help. We canna wait for the others to get here.” He gave me a quick kiss. “I should be back in a few hours.” He and Murtagh set off at a run, leaving me to my thoughts.

I would have offered to help but I knew nothing about cattle, so would be more of a hindrance than a help. I waved them off and put on the kettle for a cup of tea. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I took a closer look around the cottage. As at Lallybroch, there were artifacts adorning the walls and on the mantelpiece. Everything from old bottles and pottery jugs to a flintlock pistol and a short sword. I picked up a blue and white pottery jug decorated with a tin glaze. As soon as I held it in my hands, an image flashed through my mind. A woman, setting a table, fingers riddled with arthritis. An old woman in a crofters cottage similar to the one I now stood in. I felt the pain of the swollen joints as she struggled to hold the weight of the full jug. Lorna Findlayson, a crofters widow. Her husband, dead, her grief still fresh in her heart even after twenty seven years. 

The vision vanished as I dropped the jug, in shock, and it shattered on the hearth.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.” I uttered, as I looked at the shards of pottery on the floor. I was shaken at the vision I had had. Who was Lorna Findlayson? How was it that I felt her pain? 

I went to the scullery looking for a dustpan and brush to sweep up the broken jug. I rummaged through a broom closet, when I heard a click and the back of the cupboard opened revealing a deep gap between the back of the cupboard and the outside wall. Inside there were shelves loaded with packages of different shapes and sizes, wrapped in oilskin or cotton and tied with twine.

“What the hell?” I said to myself as I took a small package from the hidden cache. I took it to the table and carefully unwrapped it.

As I opened the wrapping. it revealed half a dozen, small single edged knives, sgian dhus, similar to those 18th century ones that Geillis and I had used to cut the herbs at the clinic. Geillis had said that she had acquired them from one of the other therapists who “came across antiques now and then.” 

This small package was just one of at least thirty hidden in the cupboard. I suspected that each package held other artifacts. Who’s stash had I stumbled upon? I had my suspicions but where did he get them from? 

I picked up one particularly beautiful one with a hilt embedded with mother of pearl. Again, a flash went through my mind. A man this time. I saw three redcoats lined up with muskets and felt my hands, no, his hands tied behind my...his back. The name, Jock MacTavish, ran through my mind. The soldiers raised their muskets and from the side I heard the order. “Ready, aim, fire.” I felt a searing pain through my chest as the musket balls pierced his skin into his heart and lungs. I or rather Jock slumped forward and the vision went black.

The cottage floor was paved with flagstones and when I came to, I found myself lying on them, my head throbbing, my eyesight blurry. My hand reached up to the back of my head and felt an almighty lump, sticky with blood. I attempted to sit up but the action caused my gut to roil. I willed myself to not throw up but the pain told my body otherwise. The last thing I remembered was instinctively rolling to my side so that I didn’t choke on my own vomit. Then oblivion overtook me.


	55. Ah Dhia, no!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Jamie’s point of view.

_The kine were well and truly bogged. We couldn’t afford to lose them. They were a prize winning herd. Some clotheid had probably left a gate open for them to have strayed so far from their usual meadow._

_Using the winch and snatch straps on the four wheel drive, Murtagh and I managed to haul them out one by one, being careful to avoid the long horns of the beasts._

_It wouldn’t pay to get injured out here in this part of the highlands as there was no way of calling for help except for the old CB radio in the four wheel drive. Mobile phones are wonderful gadgets but our isolation in the highlands rendered them useless._

_Two hours of tugging, finally got them out. Murtagh checked over each of them as they emerged from the bog and all but one, a yearling steer, escaped injury. The steer had broken it’s leg and there was only one thing for it._

_“D’ye wanna do it or shall I?” He asked._

_“D’ye mind? I dinna think Claire would appreciate me coming home covered in blood as well as mud.”_

_I tied the makeshift halter that I had put around the animals head to the bull bar of the vehicle, grateful that we had handled them regularly from the time they were born, making them gentle and easy to lead._

_“Aye, ‘tis sorra I am tae have to drag ye away from yer fair bride.”_

_Murtagh opened the door of the car and pulled out a rifle, loaded it and approached the steer. Gently he laid his hand on the head of the panting animal in respect. I stroked the young steer softly between his horns and murmured my thanks to him for his sacrifice, then stepped away so Murtagh could do his job._

_Murtagh bowed his head and intoned the gralloch prayer in thanks for it’s life and the food it would provide us. “O Thighearna, beannaich fuil agus feòil a 'chreutair a thug thu dhomh. Air a chruthachadh le do làimh mar a chruthaich thu duine, Beatha air a thoirt airson beatha. Dh'fhaodadh gum bi mi fhèin agus mo mhàthair ag ithe le taing airson an tiodhlac, Faodaidh gun toir mi agus mo mhàthair taing airson do ìobairt fhuil is feòil fhèin, Beatha air a thoirt airson beatha.”_

_He raised the rifle to the beasts head, resting it between it’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The report of the gun echoed around the glen as the steer’s legs crumpled beneath it. A good clean shot, killing the animal instantly._

_He put the gun away and brought out his dirk to slit it’s throat to bleed it then we covered it with a tarp. We herded the rest of the kine away from the bog towards the home meadows._

_“I’ll drop ye back tae the cottage then get a few of the lads tae round up this lot and help me back with the carcass. If I find out who let them out, there’ll be hell tae pay.”_

_We got into the Range Rover and headed back to the cottage. I was looking forward to a hot shower and resuming my honeymoon._

_Murtagh pulled up at the cottage and I asked him to wait a moment so he could take back Jenny’s basket that she had left. I opened the door and called out for Claire. No answer. I thought perhaps she was having a nap so tip toed into the kitchen, to retrieve the basket. On the table lay an open package. Iffren! How the hell had she found it? It was not that I was going to keep it from her but I needed to explain myself first._

_As I walked around the table, my heart stopped. My knees gave way as I saw her pale face, lying in a pool of vomit. No! Christ! No!_

_“Mo chridhe, Sassenach? Can ye hear me?” I pleaded._

_Her chest rose slightly. Thank God she was breathing, shallow but alive. My hands ran over her, checking for injuries. As my hand touched the back of her head, I felt her hair matted with blood and an enormous bump, the size of a duck egg. I stroked her hair gently._

_“Claire, Christ lass, what happened tae ye?” My instinct was to pick her up but I thought that I could make it worse._

_I heard the door open and Murtagh’s gruff, impatient voice. “Christ lad, how long does it take ye tae grab a simple basket? I havena got all day.”_

_“Murtagh, help me.” I said with a plaintive tone in my voice._

_“Iffren! Is she alive,lad?” My godfather said getting a glimpse of her pale skin, my worried face and the blood on my fingers._

_“Aye, barely. What do we do?” All rational thought had escaped my brain._

_“Right!” Said Murtagh, taking charge. “We need tae bandage her head.”_

_He hurried to the cupboard and retrieved a first aid kit and wound the dressing around the mass of curls._

_Bandage secured, he instructed me, “I’ll pick her up. Ye go get in the back seat of the Rover and I’ll pass her in to ye. We’ll take her to Master Raymond.” He saw my hesitation. “Now, man. We have to hurry.”_

_The urgency in his voice finally hit my stunned brain, head on. I went out to the car as he carried her carefully and passed her through the door into my lap. She was as limp as a rag doll. I cradled her head as gently as I could and wrapped my other arm around her to keep her still. Murtagh ran back into the cottage and came back with the plaid from the couch, He carefully wrapped it over her._

_“Dinna fash, lad. It’ll be alright.” he said as he fired up the engine and took off down the rugged track, trying to avoid the potholes and bumps on the narrow road._

_I prayed any prayer I could think of, the main one just five words: “Lord God, keep her safe.” Over and over._

_When we got within range of Lallybroch, he snatched up the handset of the CB radio._

_“Jenny, are ye there lass? Can anyone hear me? Rover tae Lallybroch, is anyone there.” The receiving radio was located in the kitchen of the house, the most likely place for someone to be at any particular time of day._

_“Murtagh? Is that ye?” We heard Mrs Crook’s quiet voice. “Is there sommat amiss?” She asked, picking up on the urgency in Murtagh’s voice._

_“Aye, the lass has fallen and hit her head. She’s unconscious. We need ye tae call the clinic and tell Master Raymond that we need him right away. We’ll be there in about half an hour.”_

_“But he isnae there. Glenna said he’d gone traveling.”_

_“Christ! Then we’ll have to take her directly to Inverness. Can ye call the hospital and let them know we’re coming?” Murtagh asked her. “Tell them that she hit her head and is unconscious but breathing. If we go through Bealach nam Broig, we should be about forty minutes.”_

_“Aye, she’s hit her head, unconscious but breathing, ye should be there in about forty minutes.” she repeated._

_“Thank ye, Molly.” Murtagh replaced the handset and looked at me over his shoulder. “How is she, lad? Any change?”_

_I shook my head as I held back my tears. “Hurry please, Athair. I canna bear tae see her like this.”_

_“Aye, mo mhac, we’ll get her there, quick as we can.” he replied reassuringly._

_Murtagh negotiated the rough track with care until they came to the main road through the pass, and threw the vehicle into high gear._

_As we drove in the shadow of Ben Wyvis, a faint moan passed Claire’s lips. Her eyelids fluttered._

_“Molaidh Dhia. Claire, Lass, can ye hear me, mo chridhe?” I cradled her tighter to me. “Sorcha?”_

_A whispered “Jamie?” answered me. A flash of her whiskey eyes met mine then closed again as a moan filled with pain reached my ears._

_“Murtagh,” I urged, “Gaire, gaire.”_

_“I’m going as fast as I can, lad, we’ll be there soon.” As it turned out, within ten minutes, we pulled up outside the Inverness A &E. _

_Murtagh sprinted inside calling for help as I manoeuvred us out of the back seat. I carried Claire inside as if she was made of precious crystal._

_A nurse met me at the door and I laid her gently on the gurney she indicated. The nurse checked her breathing and heart rate and carefully removed the bandage to assess the wound._

_“Are you her husband?” I nodded.”She’ll need a CT scan to rule out any serious injury.” explained the nurse. Her name tag read ‘Rachel’. She waved to an orderly, who on Rachel’s instruction whisked her away through the double doors . “I’m going to need some details from you.”_

_Seeing that I was shaking, Rachel showed me to a cubicle and bade me sit._

_“Can I get you some water, Mr...?”_

_“Fraser, Jamie Fraser. Ye wouldna have any whiskey?”_

_“Mr Fraser, if I had a pound for every time I was asked that question, I could retire to a tropical island.” she said with a small grin. “Now a few questions. How did this happen?”_

_I explained how I’d gone with Murtagh to see to the kine and found her on the floor._

_“ I dinna ken how she fell.”_

_“OK, then Mr Fraser...” she continued_

_“Please call me Jamie.”_

_“Very well then, Jamie, I need to know a bit about your wife’s medical history. I have a list of conditions. If you can just let me know if she or any family members have any of the following.” she said as she consulted her clipboard._

_“I dinna ken if I can help ye.” I realised now how little I really knew about Claire. I knew little about the everyday things..”I dinna ken much about her really.” I said, totally embarrassed._

_She looked at me with a perplexed expression on her face._

_“Just how long have you been married?” she asked._

_“We were wed yesterday morning.”_

_“Congratulations then. But surely during all the time you were courting and engaged, the subject would have come up. I understand you’re stressed and sometimes it can make you forget things but it’s important.” she explained._

_I understood it’s importance but how was l going to explain our situation. I decided to tell her the truth, as unconventional as it sounded._

_“Nurse...”_

_“If I’m to call you Jamie then please call me Rachel.”_

_“Then, Rachel, this is going to sound strange but we’ve kent each other exactly a week and were engaged on Friday.”_

_“And you married on Saturday? After knowing each other all of seven days?” she said flabbergasted._

_“Aye.”_

_“Err..right then...is there someone else, a family member perhaps, who could answer these questions?”_

_“Oh, aye. She has an Uncle. I can give ye a number for where he’s staying.”_

_She must have thought me simple, and strange. Who, besides people on a reality show on television, are married within a week of meeting? Those who have an arranged marriage I supposed, and being truthful, that was pretty much the way of things for us, though our marriage was not even a conventional arrangement._

_I gave Rachel the number of the clinic and Lamb’s name._

_“Can I see her? Claire?” I pleaded._

_“She should be back shortly. Stay here and I’ll call you when she’s ready.” She put a hand gently on my shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gralloch prayer translates to:
> 
> O Lord, bless the blood and the flesh of this the creature that You gave me.  
> Created by Your hand as You created man,  
> Life given for life.  
> That me and mine may eat with thanks for the gift,  
> That me and mine may give thanks for Your own sacrifice of blood and flesh,  
> Life given for life.


	56. The hospital.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire regains consciousness

Beep, beep, beep, beep...

The darkness slowly lifted as I gradually escaped the oblivion that had trapped me. My eyelids, still heavy, resisted my efforts to open them. It took all my strength to push them apart as I tried to orientate myself. I was in a bed, pale green walls surrounding me. The back of my head throbbed as my memories tried to unscramble themselves.

“Mrs Fraser?” a quiet, unfamiliar voice said. It seemed to take me an age to turn my head towards the voice. The face of a young woman came into focus. I recognised a nurses uniform and realised then that I must be in a hospital. “Mrs Fraser, can ye hear me?”

Mrs Fraser? Of course, that was my name now.

“Water.” I croaked through dry lips.

A smile appeared on the face by the bed as she reached for a cup by the bed. She raised the head of the bed and offered me a straw to sip through.

“Slowly.” she said. “Good, welcome back. I need to ask ye some questions, Mrs Fraser.” as she had her pen poised over her clipboard.

“Claire.” I answered, my throat now lubricated. “My name is Claire.”

“Ok, Claire, that’s my first question answered. Do ye ken where ye are?”

“Hospital.” My mind was still sluggish, taking a few moments to process the questions and formulate the answers.

“Good. Do ye ken what day it is?”

I hesitated. The last few days had been such a blur, so much had happened. I got married on Saturday. Was that yesterday? How long was I unconscious? I hazarded a guess.

“Sunday...21st October.”

“Excellent. Can ye tell me the last thing ye remember?”

“Jamie. In the car, I think. Before that ... the cottage...collapsed...hit my head...vomited, then nothing.” With each word, I could feel my brain resetting itself, the neuro pathways slowly reconnecting. “Do I pass the ...um...” I grasped for the term. “GCS?” My brain was clearing, my vision becoming less fuzzy. I could make out the name on her tag, Rachel Hunter. The questions she was asking made up part of the Glasgow Coma Scale, a neurological test to determine the consciousness of a patient. I had assessed numerous patients in the same way.

Rachel’s eyebrows raised questionably.

“I’m a doctor...a surgeon.” I explained 

“Ah, I see. Yes, just about. Yer at a 13 or 14. Still a bit slow to answer but I dinna think there’s any permanent damage. Ye’ve had a CT and five stitches in the back of yer head. No skull fractures or brain bleeding that we could see.”

My hand went hesitantly to the back my head, encumbered by the IV in the back of my hand. 

“Hang on, Claire. Ye dinna want to accidentally pull it out. I’ll call the doctor and we’ll see if we can’t get him to let me take it out now that yer awake.”

“Jamie? Where is Jamie?” I asked 

“I’ll bring him in. The poor man has just about worn out the carpet in the waiting room with his pacing.” she said with a smile as she left the room.

I looked up at the monitor as I did a self assessment. Heart rate a little fast and BP up a little. Pretty normal at this stage as I was trying to reorient myself to my situation. A few deep breaths helped to calm myself down and reduce the understandable anxiety. Oxygen sats and respiration almost normal. I wished I could reach the clipboard at the end of the bed to read my notes. I willed myself to be patient. I now knew the meaning of the saying that doctors make the worst patients. 

The IV contained the usual saline solution to keep me hydrated and I suspected that I had received some kind of pain relief through the bung in my hand. I could feel the swelling at the back of my head and the pull of the stitches. I would give my right arm to peruse the CT results but took reassurance from the attitude of the nurse that everything was going well. 

The door opened slightly as a blue eye peered into the room.

“Sassenach? Can I come in?” Jamie’s voice said quietly.

“Jamie.” 

He came into the room and knelt beside the bed, clasping my hand tightly, staring at my face, his eyes piercing mine.

“Oh, mo gridhe, I’m sorry. I should never have left ye. ‘Tis all my fault.” he said passionately. “when I found ye lying there, so pale and barely breathing, I thought ye dead. I...I thought I’d lost ye.” His head lowered, his forehead resting on our entwined hands as his voice cracked. 

I slowly reached over to lay my other hand on his rufous curls in comfort. 

“Jamie, love, I’m going to be fine.” My heart went out to him as he expressed his guilt. “You had to go and help Murtagh. I understand.”

“No, Sorcha, no number of kine are more important to me than ye. Do ye ken just how much I love ye?” Sapphire orbs burned into my brown ones as his love poured out of them. 

The door opened again to admit a young, brown haired man in the obligatory white coat of a doctor, stethoscope draped around his neck, Rachel following closely behind him. I looked up into his face which echoed the face of the nurse a pace behind him. 

Jamie rose as the doctor extended his hand. 

“Denzell Hunter.” He introduced himself and shook Jamie’s hand. “Yes, Rachel is my sister.” he said to me answering my unspoken question.

I gave him a wan smile.

“Rachel tells me that you are a doctor, a surgeon what’s more.” he continued. “and Rachel also tells me you are newly married. Congratulations.”

“Thank ye, Doctor.” Jamie said gratefully. “How is she? How long does she need to stay here?”

“Please call me, Denzell. I’m not much one for titles.” He turned to address me. “We’d like to keep ye in for observation tonight and all being well, ye can go home tomorrow as long as ye promise to rest for the next few days. At least until the swelling goes down. The stitches can come out next week.”

Jamie’s smile brightened, having expected a lot worse. 

“She’s going to be fine, Mr Fraser...”

“Jamie, please, Doctor... Denzell.”

“Jamie then,” Denzell corrected himself. He glanced at my chart. “Claire needs to rest and we will need to keep an eye on her tonight. We will check her wound and responses regularly as there’s always a chance of complications with a knock to the head.”

“Can I stay?” Jamie asked. Denzell nodded. I interrupted.

“No Jamie, I’ll be fine. I’m in good hands. Truly.” I looked him up and down. “Why don’t you go home, rest and clean up.” I indicated his wet, muddy clothes. “You can come back in the morning.”

“No, lass. I’ll bide.” His stubbornness coming through.

“Please, Jamie.” I pleaded. “I’ll be sleeping anyway and I’ll need some clean clothes. I don’t want to go home smelling like vomit.” I indicated the soiled outfit in the blue plastic bag marked ‘Patient’s clothing ‘.

‘Are ye sure, Sassenach? I can send Murtagh to fetch yer things.”

“Jamie, you stubborn Scot, I’m sure. I’ll be asleep most of the time anyway. Please go. I’ll be better tomorrow and then you can take me home.”

Jamie looked at Denzell and Rachel for reassurance.

“Mr Fraser...Jamie, let us do our job. Claire will need you to help her in the days to come and we would prefer it if you’re well rested.” Rachel looked at my face over his shoulder.

I nodded. I was beginning to feel tired again and my eyelids were drooping. I also needed time away from Jamie to think through what caused me to faint and what it could possibly mean and how to broach the subject with Jamie.

“Verra well, mo cridhe, if yer sure.”

“Positively. I really want to sleep now.” I insisted.

Jamie reached over the bed to kiss me. I knew he’d be back at cocks crow. 

“Oidhche mhath, mo chridhe. I will see you in the morning.” He walked towards the door picking up my soiled clothes on his way out. “Ye’ll mind her, aye?” He asked of Rachel.

“Yes Jamie, we will.” She reassured him. 

“I love ye, Sassenach.” he said as he stood in the doorway. 

“I love you too.” I murmured as my eyes closed once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no medical training so if I have things terribly wrong, please forgive me.


	57. A new friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire makes a new friend and a decision about her future.

I slept deeply after Jamie’s departure for a few hours and woke to Rachel checking my pulse and respirations in the wee hours of the morning. After consultation with Denzell earlier, she had removed the bung in my hand and disconnected me from the monitor.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked her.

“Sorry to have woken ye Claire.”Rachel apologised. “It’s all looking good, in fact I’m surprised at yer quick recovery.”

“Thank you, Rachel. Actually, do you have a moment? I just need to talk to someone.” Rachel had a presence that made you feel like you could tell her anything without judgment and I really needed to get some kind of outside perspective about what had happened to me over the last week.

She nodded, looking at my face and seeing the look of desperation in my eyes. “It’s pretty quiet on the ward tonight. If they need me, they ken where I am. Ye look like ye are carrying a heavy burden. Dinna fash, Claire, ye ken that anything ye say will be just between us.” she reassured me as she sat by the bed and held my hand. “Now dearie, how can I help?”

I took a deep breath, thinking about where to start.

“What I’m about to tell you will probably make you think I’ve sustained some brain damage or that you’ll need to call in the psych registrar but please know that everything I’m telling you is the truth.”

I began to tell her everything. Once I started, it poured out of me like a dam bursting it’s banks. Rachel patiently listened without interruption, her face filled with compassion and wonder as my story cascaded from my lips. When I’d finished, she squeezed my hand comfortingly. I wondered what on earth she must be thinking.

“So I suppose that you’re going to call in the shrink now and have me committed or order another brain scan.”

“It’s an amazing tale, to be sure and I’m not quite sure what to make of it but I’m not about to go and call a psychiatrist, Claire. I grew up here in the highlands and there’s been many a strange tale told with nary an explanation. I’m also a member of the Society of Friends, a Quaker and we believe in the ability of each human being to experientially access the light within or "that of God in every one". The light ye have within is special. You have been given an amazing gift, Claire. Embrace it. Your ability to lay on hands to heal is rare but not unheard of. Christ himself had that gift as the bible tells us, so no, I’m not about to have you committed.” she said with a little smile on her lips.

I breathed a sigh of relief at her words but was still in a quandary about what to do from here on in. There was the question of what to do about my job and how to go forward in my relationship with Jamie.

Rachel saw the questions in my eyes. It was as if she could read my thoughts but on reflection they were obvious questions that led on from what I’d told her.

“Bedford Hospital is desperate for doctors and Denny and I have just applied for a transfer there. They are running on locums at the moment and need a full time surgeon. It’s close to where we grew up and we’ve been desperate to escape the city. Why not see if ye can transfer there too?”

It was an idea that I could definitely consider. It was reasonably close to Lallybroch, only about thirty minutes away but I wasn’t sure if I could manage a full time job at the moment. I said as much to Rachel.

“Dinna fash, Claire. I’m sure ye could negotiate something, they’re so desperate. Perhaps ye could set up rooms somewhere, closer to home maybe. Do some GP work closer to Lallybroch. I understand the clinic in Broch Morda is vacant. God knows they need someone there too. Old Davey Beaton had a good setup there. Perhaps he’d sell you the practice. I could see if I can find you a contact number for him.”

My mind returned to the young doctor who had helped during the re-enactment.

“Actually, I met his grandson last week. Jenny will know how to contact him.” My spirits lifted. I had to feel useful and this would solve two of my concerns; firstly, to use my medical skills and to feel needed and secondly, to be close to Jamie and give my new love and marriage a chance to blossom. 

Despite the secrets Jamie was hiding from me, I loved him. Each moment together melded us closer and closer. We could have secrets but no lies. I had faith that in time, Jamie would explain everything.

I had felt bad sending him away the previous evening but I needed time to think and work out what our future would look like. There were still so many unknowns but Rachel’s suggestion had merit. I could still do what I had studied so hard for. My destiny was to heal, it was who I was.

“Thank you, Rachel. You have made things so much clearer.”

“Och, think nothing of it. It’s what you do for a friend.”

A friend. Besides Joe, I had few friends. No childhood friends due to traveling with Uncle Lamb, except Roger of course. I could do with a female friend and Rachel seemed to understand me. 

Relieved of this burden, I allowed myself to relax. I felt lighter and I felt I could rest easier.

“Ye should try to sleep some more.” Rachel said comfortingly. “It’ll be morning before ye ken and that husband of yours will be back before sunrise I’ll be bound.” She smiled. “He loves ye fiercely, lass. I’m sure ye kent that.”

“Yes, Rachel, I ‘ken’.” I allowed myself to smile widely.

Rachel rearranged the bedclothes and gave my hand a squeeze.

“I’ll see ye in a couple of hours. Sleep well, Claire.”

I slept, happy in the knowledge that I would soon have my husband by my side and that he would be taking me home. Home to Lallybroch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience while I wrestle with writers block. I know when I’m headed but am struggling with the story between. It’s like climbing the mountain thinking that your destination lies on the other side. Then you get to the top only to find yourself at the beginning of a whole mountain range that you have to traverse before you get here. Rocky in some parts and easier on the downhill slopes.


	58. Clash of minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jamie’s first BIG argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I do, I have taken some of the lines from the TV series, albeit tailored to my own needs, to thread through my story. I lay no claim to them. They are the property of DG and the script writers.

I woke, just as the first light filtered into the room, to find a crop of red hair beside my hand that was nestled in one of his large, square ones. A pair of lips was kissing my palm, a dampness of tears on my fingers, accompanied by whispers of Gaelic caressing my wrist. My other hand moved across to stroke the russet locks in comfort. The beautiful face lifted, his eyes scanning my face, making his own diagnosis as he knelt by the bed.

“Mo nighean donn, are ye well? Better?” He spoke in a voice just a little louder than his whispers.

“Much.” My heart was glad to see him. “I’m sorry I asked you to leave yesterday. I fear I was quite rude.”

“Och, dinna fash, my Sassenach, I ken I can be a bit o’er protective sometimes. ‘Tis just that I love ye so fierce and ye scared the bowels outta me, seeing ye lying there on the floor. The blood and puke all around ye and ye barely breathing, frightened me more than I care tae think about. I can bear my own pain but no yours.” He lifted himself from his knees and bent over to gently kiss me on the cheek as if I was a fragile porcelain doll. His fingers brushed my hair back from my face.

“I know that now. I love you too, truly I do, but I just needed some time alone. I needed to get my head around my new life and how to reconcile it with my old one.”

“I understand, mo ghraidh. ‘Tis the same with any newly wed couple. It has been a big change for ye. We can talk about it when ye come home.”

“Actually, I can leave here this morning.” I said with a smile. “ Denzell is happy with how I’m progressing and said that as long as I take it easy, I can go home.”

“Och, Claire, ye’ve made me a very happy man.” His face lit up like a beacon. 

Just then, as if on cue, the brother and sister came in. Both looked tired after a long night shift. I sympathised with them.

“Good morning, lovebirds.” Denzell jested, a wide smile on his face. “How are ye feeling this morning Claire? Rachel told me how much better ye are.”

I smiled back at him. “Ready to go home if you’ll let me.” I answered.

“I just want to check those stitches first.” Rachel helped me sit up. I expected to feel a bit dizzy at my change in position but nothing. Denzell removed the dressing and examined the wound. He looked at Rachel in astonishment. 

“I told ye.” She said answering his expression.

“This is most remarkable, Claire, most unexpected.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked, a little confused.

“Well, ye ken that it usually takes a couple of days for the swelling to go down on an injury such as yours and that we would usually suggest that the stitches remain for about a week.” Denzell explained.

“Yes, so what are you saying?” 

“What I’m saying is that the swelling has gone and the wound has just about healed. I’ve never seen nor heard of someone healing so quickly. If I hadna seen it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it.” 

I looked at Jamie who’s face mirrored mine. Is this one of the new ‘powers’ I’d been endowed with? What could I say to Denzell? Should I tell him what I’d told Rachel last night? Rachel caught my eye with a knowing look.

“Denzell, Rachel and I talked last night and I explained a few things about myself. I understand that you’re on your rounds and tired after night shift so I won’t explain now.” Jamie gave me a look of warning. “It’s ok, Jamie, I trust them.” I turned back to Denzell. “I’d like to talk to you about a few of my experiences and about how it may be that I’ve healed so quickly. Could we perhaps talk over dinner one evening?”

Denzell and Rachel exchanged glances. Rachel spoke for them both.

“We’d love that Claire. Our roster is pretty similar and we both have Wednesday evening off. Would that suit?”

“That would be perfect. Would you mind the drive up to the cottage? It’s just not a subject I really want to discuss in a public place.”

“I totally understand.” said Rachel, a conspiratorial smile on her face. 

The men looked at each other as if they had no choice in the matter. I asked Jamie to give Denzell directions and we agreed to 7pm on Wednesday.

“Well, Claire, you’re free to go. I’d still rather you take it easy for the next few days and if all is well I’ll remove the stitches on Wednesday. I need to finish my rounds so I’ll leave you in Rachel’s capable hands.” Denzell turned on his heel and headed off to see his next patient.

Rachel excused herself to attend to my discharge paperwork. 

Once she’d left the room, Jamie rounded on me.

“Are ye totally mad, Woman? Do ye want to be committed?” Jamie said in a low growling voice.

“Jamie, relax. It’s going to be alright. Rachel knows. We talked last night and she believed me.”

Before we could discuss it further, Rachel returned with a wheel chair and the paperwork. She saw my look of dismay at the thought of the wheel chair. 

“It’s hospital policy, ye know, Claire. I’ll give ye a moment to get dressed and I’ll be back.” She gave me a big grin as she left the room.

Jamie reached for the bag he’d brought with him and handed it to me then made to leave the room as I changed. 

“Stay.” I asked as I swung my legs over the bed and stood slowly. Still no dizziness. It was as if I had never been injured. 

I reached for Jamie, just wanting to be held in his strong arms. They wrapped themselves around me and held me tightly. His hands ran up my back feeling my skin between the ties holding the back of the hospital gown closed. A heat rose between us then, as suddenly as it started, it disappeared. Jamie stepped back dropping his arms by his side.

“Sassenach, ye need to get dressed so we can leave this place.”

I turned to allow Jamie to undo the ties and slide the gown off. I felt his eyes inspect me to check that there were no other injuries. I felt like one of his horses that was being assessed for soundness.

I dressed as quickly as I could and Jamie helped me into the wheel chair.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” I said trying to lighten the mood. There was no response.

Rachel returned and wheeled me out to the car park. Jamie opened the car door and I stood to get in. She hugged me. Jamie’s back stiffened and a look of displeasure crossed his face.

“See you Wednesday.” I said, hugging her back. I felt like I had made a fast friend in Rachel.

“See ye then, Claire. I’m really looking forward to it.” She gave me a smile. Behind that smile I could see her thoughts. She couldn’t wait to see Denzell’s face when I told him everything. “Take care of her.” she said to Jamie.

“Aye.” He answered shortly.

**************************  
As Jamie drove out of the town, I could see he had something on his mind.

“Jamie, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nowt.” His voice had a touch of, if not quite anger, then at least deep annoyance. We drove in silence along the country road for about fifteen minutes, the feelings of love and relief he expressed at the hospital no longer on his face. I had to know. 

“Jamie, I know there’s something wrong. Please. Tell me.”

He swerved the car sharply onto the shoulder of the road and braked suddenly, the tyres skidding in the gravel. He turned in his seat, looking at me with fury.

“Ye want to know, do ye? Well here it is. Firstly, ye tell a complete stranger all about our personal business, about your gifts, knowing that there was a chance that they could have called in a psychologist who could have locked you up in a psych ward and then you just invite them to dinner without consulting me, your husband and on our honeymoon for Christ sake.”

I looked at him in astonishment, as if he was a stranger. Where was that loving man who not an hour ago was on his knees professing his undying love for me? How dare he speak to me as if I had committed a cardinal sin. I was stunned. My dander was up and my own temper flared.

“How dare you speak to me like that? I didn’t know that MY gifts were a state secret. You know that I wouldn’t have blabbed to just anyone. Rachel made me feel safe. She just listened without judgement and she believed me. She really believed me. For once in this last week, I didn’t feel like a freak.” I’d hit my stride and the things that I’d been bottling up inside me poured out. “She was not part of the little conspiracy that I fell victim to at Lallybroch. As for you being my husband, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter, did I. Lie with you or go mad. They were my two choices. Well, you know something, James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser, I think that maybe madness may not have been such a bad choice.”

I grabbed the door handle and jumped out of the car and started running. Off to the side of the road was a narrow track and in my anger and hurt, it seemed like a good escape route. I had no idea where I was going but just needed to get away. His whole manner infuriated me. How dare he!

I heard the car door slam. Jamie’s boots crunched in the gravel as his lengthy strides got closer. 

“Claire, stop!”

Trying to outrun him, tears of anger mixed with despair, blurred my vision and I didn’t see the tree root. My foot caught and I fell, landing heavily.

Within two of his giant steps, he caught up with me, his hands reaching out to help me up. I pushed them away and got to my feet. I knew I’d skinned my knees and made to walk away when he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. 

“Get your hands off me.” I yelled at him as I struggled to escape his grip. I managed to wriggle out of his grasp. My hand swung back and I stuck him as hard as I could across the face . 

“Do that again and I’ll slap you until your lugs ring.” Jamie said menacingly.

“You’re a brute and a fool. Do you think I threw myself on the floor and gave myself a concussion on purpose, just so I could go to the hospital and tell a perfect stranger my life story?” I was livid.

“Aye, I do think ye did it on purpose. Ye were snooping into affairs that were none of yer business.” He was totally irrational in his anger. “I think ye did it to get back at me for leaving ye while I tended the kine.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“I had no problem with you going to help Murtagh. As for snooping, I was looking for a dustpan to sweep up the jug I accidentally dropped and your little hidey hole opened when I leaned against it. You think to punish you I fainted and smashed my head open. Christ, Jamie.”

“I told ye to be careful.”

“Well, my laird,” I said sarcastically and all rational thought left my head. “I don’t have to do what you what you tell me to.”

“Aye, ye do. Ye are my wife.” He snapped.

“Your wife... your wife. Oh you think I’m your property, don’t you? You think I belong to you like those cows.”

“You do belong to me and you are my wife whether you like it or not.”

“Well I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit but that doesn’t matter to you either does it. As long as I’m there to warm your bed. You don’t care about what I think or how I feel. That’s all a wife is to you, something to stick your cock into whenever you feel the urge.” He grabbed my shoulders again. “Let go of me you fucking bastard.”

“You foul mouthed bitch. Ye’ll no talk to me that way.” His face changed from anger to angst as he ran out of the fury that had possessed him. He backed away and fell to his knees in the grass beside the track. His face in his hands. “Do ye ken what it was like to come back to the cottage to find ye on the ground in a pool of blood and vomit, barely breathing? It tore my guts out, Claire.”

My heart sank at the sight of my husband reduced to a quivering mess, kneeling at my feet. I was ashamed of my reaction to what he’d said. I knelt beside him, my hand on his arm. I looked down at the ground, mortified at my words.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. Please. Forgive me.”

His finger lifted my chin to look me in the eye. His eyes that had been dark blue at the height of his tirade, now had turned to the bright blue as he calmed. It was like the dark sky of a thunderstorm clearing to a balmy summers day.

“Forgiven. I’m sorry too. I ask yer pardon for what I said. I said more than I meant. Ye forgive me too?” he pleaded.

“Forgiven.” He asked forgiveness and I forgave him but the truth is that I’d forgiven everything that he’d done and everything he could ever do. For me that was no choice. That was falling in love.


	59. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the cottage...

The drive back to the cottage was a quiet one. Not the silence of anger but the stillness of two people who had come to an understanding of the terms of their relationship. We began to feel comfortable just to be in each other’s company.

A short way into our journey, Jamie reached across for my hand that was sitting still in my lap. Eyes on the road, he lifted it to his lips and kissed my palm sweetly then placed it on the gear stick, his own large one covering it. Together, we changed the gears as if to symbolise the change in our awareness of each other.

I glanced across at the beautiful, rugged face of my husband. The angled planes of his cheeks were relaxed and that smile, the crooked smile where just the edge of his mouth tipped up slightly, warmed my heart. Leaving the road for a moment, his eyes turned to see me admiring him, a cornflower blue, a shade I had only seen when he was truly happy. I returned his smile as he turned to look back at the road. The way his eyes changed colour with his mood struck me. It was like an emotional barometer I was just learning to read. 

His large thumb drew lazy circles on the back of my hand as we drove down the corrugated dirt road. The rain that had teemed down the day before had dissipated and the sun peeked through the clouds that reminded me of cotton wool on a pre-schoolers artwork. 

Jamie broke the silence and played tour guide, pointing out places of interest and their history in his easygoing highlander fashion. We passed through Bealach nan Broig, where the famous battle took place, so Jamie told me, and skirted Ben Wyvis, the hill of terror though exactly why it was called that had been lost to history. I took time to admire the wildness of the scenery. At every turn, a vista appeared to stop you in your tracks.

I realised Jamie was slowing down and as we turned a corner, the cottage was ahead of us. Jamie pulled up and reluctantly let go of my hand. 

“Wait there. Sassenach.” he insisted. As the true gentleman that he was, he opened my door and helped me out, even though I didn’t need him to and kissed me. Not a long passionate kiss but not quite a peck either, like he was testing the waters. I returned it, hoping to rekindle what we’d had before.

He reached into the back seat for my bag then hand in hand we walked to the door. Jamie opened it and offered his hand to lead me inside but I stood, frozen, unable to make my feet take that step over the threshold. The memory of what had happened there flooded my brain. The visions of the gnarled, painful hands of Lorna Findlayson and Jock McTavish meeting his end came back.

“Sassenach? Are ye alright?” Jamie looked at me, worry marked his face. “Claire? What is it?”

I shook my head. Was it to be so each time I touched anything? Was this one of my new ‘powers’ and if so what purpose did it have?

Jamie’s hands stilled my cold, shaking ones.

“Mo chridhe, yer hands are like ice and yer face... it looks like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m not...altogether sure... I haven’t.” I managed to get out.

Jamie rubbed my hands trying to restore the warmth to them. He took me in his arms. Up to that moment I hadn’t realised that not only had my hands been shaking by my whole body was trembling with anxiety.

“Much, mo muirninn, much. It’s alright, Claire. There’s naught tae be afraid of. I still dinna ken what happened here but I promise ye I’ll no’ let anything else hurt ye.” he murmured gently in the same comforting tone he used with his horses. His soothing hand stroked my head as he pulled it to rest on his shoulder. I felt my body relax into him and my breathing slowed. “There, mo nighean donn, there. Will ye come in?”

I nodded against his shoulder and I felt his hands shift as he picked me up in his strong arms and carried me inside. He laid me on the love seat, arranging a pillow behind my head and the throw blanket over me. Kneeling beside the small couch, he tucked it in around me.

“Can I get ye something? A cup of tea?” 

As he busied himself with the kettle, I looked around. Someone had swept up the broken jug and washed the floor, removing any trace of my accident. The package that had lain on the table had been put away. The fire had been stoked and everything was in its correct place.

Jamie pulled a kitchen chair and a small table beside the couch. He helped me sit up and handed me a steaming cup of tea as he sat on the chair, watching me, the fingers of his right hand drumming a tattoo on his thigh. It was something that I’d seen him do many times before but until now I hadn’t really taken much notice. It was his tell. He was thinking.

The tea was strong and sweet and laced with whiskey. I sipped at it gratefully. We sat in silence again, neither of us quite knowing where to start. After a couple of minutes, I broke the silence.

“Thank you, Jamie, thank you for everything. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry fer what, mo nighean donn?” He moved to sit beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. 

“Since I came here, to Scotland, it’s been like a roller coaster ride. Uncle Lambs illness, the clinic, Master Raymond, the whole blue light and prophecy thing. It’s been a lot to take in. The last week I’ve put you and your family through so much worry and trouble and you...you and Jenny and Murtagh, have been so loving and accepting. I’m sorry again about losing it this morning. I should never have screamed at you like that.”

“Och, dinna fash, mo nighean donn. ‘Tis over. Forgiven, remember? We have a chance to start over. I ken ye’ve been confused about everything that’s happened. We love ye, Jenny and I, even Murtagh has a soft spot fer ye.” He laughed softly. “‘Tis no’ many can get under that thick skin of his but ye have. Ye ken he’s my godfather, aye? Well he’s the closest I’ve had to a father since my own passed. Sure, he’s gruff and grumpy but underneath there beats a heart of gold. Ye ken, he was in love with my mother before she wed my father? Those tusk bracelets, they were a wedding gift to her from him. Killed the boar himself to try to impress her.”

“I always thought there was a true romantic under that beard.”

“Aye, he told me the story on the morning of our wedding. When I asked him what he thought of ye, he said “Your mother had the sweetest smile. Warm a man to the backbone just to see it. Claire’s smile is just as sweet.”. I knew then that I had his blessing. We’re family now, Claire, all of us.”

Family. Something I hadn’t had for a very long time. Sure, Uncle Lamb had raised me and provided for me and I was very grateful for that but he had never been the affectionate kind of uncle I craved. Not the kind to hug or be close to physically. He was the pat on the head type when I pleased him. One who would tell me historical facts rather than fairytales when I was little. I knew that in his own way he loved me and I loved him too.

“Jamie, I’ve never really had anyone except Uncle Lamb. I don’t really remember my own parents, only a few little things.”

“What do ye remember, mo chridhe?”

“I remember a day in a park. My mother sitting on a blanket laughing while my father swung me around in circles by the arms. He called it a dizzy-wizzy. I remember the smell of my mother’s perfume. Do you know, I looked for years to find that fragrance? A couple of years ago, I was on a bus going to work when I smelled it again. A woman was sitting in the seat in front of me, touching up her makeup when she sprayed it on her throat. I don’t normally talk to strangers but I had to know so I asked her. Sunflowers by Elizabeth Arden. It always reminded me of a garden on a summers day. I don’t remember much else except the day they died.”

Jamie took the empty cup from my hands and set it down on the small table. He pulled me towards him until I was sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped around me tighter. 

“We dinna need to speak of sad things today, Sassenach.” He said, his lips buried in my neck. He leaned me back to kiss me gently, his hands running down my back. I met his lips, soft but insistent. My hands rested on his muscular chest as our kiss became more intense. 

“Christ, Claire, have I ever told ye that ye have the roundest wee ass.” he said into my mouth as his hands cupped me over my jeans.

I giggled.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

I felt him hardening beneath me and felt that tingling feeling in my stomach. I wanted him, and soon. My hands slid down his chest, across his rippling abdomen to the hem of his polo shirt. Lifting it ever so slightly, my nails gently raked across the skin just above the waistband of his jeans. I felt him shudder as he breathed in sharply. I couldn’t help but smile slightly. Jamie felt the movement under his lips and moved his head away from mine. One eyebrow raised, he looked down at me.

“Are ye sure, lass? I mean, are ye well enough?”

“Fit as a fiddle.” I replied 

“Then Sassenach, let’s make some music.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your lovely comments and some ideas to consider.


	60. The Naked Chef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire discovers one of Jamie’s hidden talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough of all the angst for a while. Time for Jamie and Claire to just enjoy each other.
> 
> And Yes, those questions will be answered eventually. Patience is required. 😁

Mmmm, bacon!

My olfactory nerve was in overdrive. Borborygmus emitted from beneath the bedclothes. I was famished. 

A monotonal humming was coming from the direction of the kitchen.

I poked my head out from under the cosy warmth of my little cocoon to see my husband at the stove in a floral apron...just a floral apron! I praised God for the small croft, made up of just one large room, where I could see everything that was going on from the vantage point of our comfy bed.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! My Scot had a magnificent, muscular arse. 

I stretched, eyes closed, moaning a little in pleasure as my back cracked and my muscles relaxed. 

“So yer awake then are ye, lazybones?” Jamie said from the side of the bed, his face sporting a wolfish grin. “and here was I thinking I’d have to eat this all by myself.”

I sat up to find him carrying a tray laden with food and drink. He laid it on the bedside table and joined me on the bed. His lips found that spot behind my ear that drove me mad when he touched it.

“Good morning, my beautiful wife.” He murmured softly as he nibbled my earlobe.

His actions made me want more of what we had had the night before but my stomach protested. I needed sustenance. We’d forgone both lunch and dinner yesterday to repair the damage we’d done to our fledgling marriage. We had talked about how we had hurt one another and cried together, taken each other to heaven numerous times, furiously then tenderly, rediscovering each other and slept replete in each other’s arms.

“Jamie! Stop, please, stop.” I begged knowing that if he didn’t, there would be no stopping me from wanting to ravish him. “I’m hungry and you’ve gone to so much trouble.”

“Aye, I’m hungry too. So hungry I could take a bite out of ye, Sassenach but eggs and bacon will have to do.” He reached across and placed the tray on his lap. He picked up the one and only fork on the tray and scooped up a portion of the delicious looking omelette he had created. It made it’s way in the direction of my lips and I obediently opened my mouth as he fed me. 

It was ambrosia, perfect fluffy eggs, crisp bacon, gooey melted cheese and chives rolled around my mouth. A moan escaped my lips as my eyes closed in ecstasy. When I opened them, a wide grin had appeared on his face. 

“I love those wee noises ye make, mo nighean donn, when ye feel pleasure.” I ignored the double entendres, lusting for more of the sumptuous breakfast he’d created.

“My God, Jamie, where did you learn to cook like that. It’s amazing.” I opened my mouth for more.

As the delicious food passed between my lips, I groaned again.

“Well someone has to feed us. I ken ye can hardly boil a potato.” A small laugh escaped him. He took a bite himself. “‘Tis no’ bad if I say so myself.” I nodded, humbly admitting to my culinary deficiency.

“Not bad? It’s glorious.” We continued to share the scrumptious meal he’d prepared. I could see that something was playing on his mind. He put down the fork on the empty plate. His expression changed, as he looked out the window as if trying to bring back a memory.

“When I was a lad, Mam let us help her in the kitchen, Jenny and I. She was a fine cook. Before she wed, she’d set her sights on becoming a chef, ye ken. Even went to Paris to a cooking school but then she met my Da and gave it up to marry him. She taught Jenny and me to cook. She cooked for the gatherings, and the spread at Hogmanay was like something ye’ve never seen before or since. I loved learning about the flavours and helping her tend her garden with all her wee herbs and such. I wanted to follow in her footsteps but when she died, I had no heart for it anymore. I havena found joy in cooking from that day until this morning.”

“So you cooked. Just for me?”

“Aye.” The expression on his face was a mixture of the residual pain of the loss of his precious mother and the joy of cooking he had rediscovered. 

I snuggled against him. I now understood where Jenny got it from. She had embraced it to keep their mother’s memory alive where Jamie had rejected it, the pain too great.

“Well, my lad, she taught you well.” I said, drawing the smile back into his face.

He offered me a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. I sipped, enjoying the sweet citrusy flavour as it trickled down my throat. He took the glass from my hand and turned it a half turn so that his lips drank from the very same spot where mine had been. His cerulean eyes locked with mine as he swallowed. He turned to put the tray back on the table. I felt myself melting back into the mattress, one hunger satisfied and another welling back up in my core. My hand reached for his, wanting to feel it on my body once again. 

“Sassenach, as much as I want ye, and I do, I dinna want to waste the day stuck indoors. ‘Tis a beautiful day outside. Are ye feeling up to a wee walk?”

A little disappointed that sex was off the menu this morning, I suddenly realised that I’d forgotten about my accident. I put my hand to the stitches still embedded in my scalp. The scab had gone and there was no sign of swelling. I felt refreshed and alive. 

“Yes, Jamie. A walk would be lovely.” The sound of a kettle whistling, took Jamie to the kitchen. I toyed with the idea of asking Jamie to join me in the shower but if we were to get out of the cottage anytime this morning, we would be better off completing our morning ablutions separately.

By the time I had washed and dressed, Jamie had prepared a picnic basket for our lunch. He excused himself to get ready. I folded the blanket that had been abandoned on the couch the previous night and added it to the basket. I looked around the cottage taking in more of it’s contents.

I was drawn to the book shelf. I knew Jamie was well read, an interest we shared, but I didn’t really understand the breadth of his passion until now. The shelves were well stocked with both fiction and nonfiction, poetry and plays. Books in Latin and Greek, Gaelic, French and English. Volumes old, new and some positively ancient. Paperbacks side by side with well worn tomes bound in the softest kid leather, fraying at the spine. Shakespeare, cheek by jowl with Roald Dahl, Homer snuggled beside J.K. Rowling (the full set of Harry Potter in hardcover, dust jackets a little torn and stained.). Tolstoy jostled for position beside Jane Austin who was crammed tight against what looked like original copies of all five volumes of Francois Rabelais’, ‘Gargantua and Patagruel.’

About to take one off the shelf, I heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Jamie ready to go. Curiously he wore his sporran on the belt threaded through his jeans. Seeing my expression, he shrugged.

“‘Tis handy, ye ken, fer keeping bits and bobs in.”

“It reminds me of those bum bags from the ‘80’s.”

“Another idea the Sassenachs stole from us, only it took them a few hundred years to cotton on tae the idea.” he said with a smirk. “Are ye ready, lass?” 

I nodded, grabbing my jacket from the coat hook and putting it on. He picked up the basket in one hand and my hand in the other.

“Let’s be off then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I’d ever begin a chapter with the phrase “Mmmm bacon.” but there you have it.
> 
> Oh, one other thing, borborygmus is the technical name for the stomach rumbles (I’m sure some of you have already googled it. LOL)
> 
> Thanks again for your loyalty and encouraging comments.


	61. Twenty questions: part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A less serious version of twenty questions.

I was sure I’d never get sick of the allure of the Scottish highlands, rugged and beautiful, just like the man they had spawned. My husband. I still had to pinch myself occasionally to remind myself that I was married. 

With my hand firmly in his, Jamie and I ambled through the glen in it’s autumnal glory. Jamie’s usual long stride shortened to match mine. He regaled me with stories of walks with his father or Murtagh, teaching him to stalk deer or set snares to provide them with meat. I only then realised how much of a city girl I was. 

I told Jamie about my childhood out on the often remote digs with Uncle Lamb. We never really had to worry about where our next meal was coming from. There were always local cooks who provided our meals. I told him about the first time I had seen an animal being slaughtered on a dig in Syria. It had been a young goat, one of a small flock that I had come to regard as pets. I was about seven years old and Adeem, the herdsman, had sat me down and explained about how they had been raised to nourish our bodies and told me that each time they killed a beast they first blessed it and thanked it for its life.

“A gralloch prayer then.” Jamie said. 

“A gralloch prayer? What’s that?”

“It’s an old custom here in the highlands too. It thanks the animals spirit for its sacrifice. I dinna ken what they call it in Syria but it seems like it serves the same purpose. I’ve read that the Native Americans have a similar custom.”

We’d reached a stream and followed it a little way to a clearing that looked familiar. 

“I hope it’s ok to come here. I ken the last time we were here, ye were quite upset but it’s one of my favourite places and I wanted ye to see it in a happier light.”

It was the place Jamie had brought me to when I’d fallen off Brimstone and sprained my ankle. He had cared for me and our connection had grown stronger. 

I blushed when I remembered him binding my ankle. Jamie laughed when he looked at me.

“Ye remember then. I dinna ken who was more embarrassed, ye or me.”

I laughed along with him.

“So, my lovely wife, is it a suitable place for a picnic?”

“Yes, my love, it’s a perfect place.” 

The glade offered shade from the unusually warm autumn day. Jamie shook out the blanket and laid it next to the fallen log. The same log where only a week ago we had sat together.

He drew a thermos out of the basket and poured tea into a mug. I took it gratefully and breathed in the fragrant smell of oolong. 

“Thank you Jamie, oolong is my favourite.”

“Aye, I ken. Black, not too strong but not like dishwater with lemon if there’s no honey.” He recited. I was amazed. He knew exactly how I liked my tea and I didn’t even know whether he preferred tea or coffee. “Jenny told me.” he confessed. 

“So, Jamie? Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, strong black first thing in the morning then tea, white, two sugars anytime after lunch.”

This reminded me of a ‘getting to know you’ game I had once played during a team building session I had attended at university. I explained it to Jamie. 

“Sounds like a bit of fun, lass. Will ye go first so I get the gist of it?” Jamie made himself a cup and we both settled back on the rug, Jamie leaning back against the tree and I settled in beside him my head resting on his shoulder, his arm around my waist. I cradled the warm cup between my hands 

“Ok. Here’s the age old one. Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs, definitely dogs.” I was not surprised at his answer as Lallybroch had it’s fair share of canines. “And ye, Sassenach? Which one?”

“Cats.” He looked at me in disbelief, one eyebrow cocked. “What? Cats are self sufficient, clean, don’t need much room, quieter, keep pests at bay and you don’t have to walk them.”

“Hey, no’ fair. Ye’ve played this before and ken all the answers.” I giggled at his indignation at my preprepared reply. “ ok, let me think... Dogs are... loyal, intelligent, they come when ye call them when cats just ignore ye. They’re always happy to see ye. When you’re feeling down, dogs are always there to cheer you up. Cats just don’t care.“

“Cats snuggle”

“Only when THEY want to.” 

“Fine, let’s agree to disagree on that one. Your turn.”

Jamie considered the next question. 

“What’s worse: laundry or dishes?”

“Well it depends? If I’m doing laundry, am I doing yours, mine or ... or ours?” It was something I hadn’t considered. We were married now and we hadn’t discussed things like housekeeping or chores.

Jamie’s face showed the same question. 

“Well I suppose it’ll be ours now. I choose dishes.” He said quickly as if he was calling dibs. “ I dinna ken how to wash yer...um...intimates.” His face reddened at the thought.

I collapsed in fits of laughter at the thought of Jamie trying to work out how to wash my lingerie. He saw the funny side of it and joined me in my mirth. 

“Fine, I’ll do the laundry and wash the dishes if you dry. Seeing as you’re in charge of cooking.”

“So I’m yer personal chef now am I, Sassenach. Ye ken the auld proverb: give a man a fish and he’ll eat fer a day; teach a man to fish and he’ll eat fer life.”

“Yes and they also say that charcoal is good for your teeth.” We laughed again, Jamie’s arms now around my waist. I loved the sound of his uninhibited chuckle.

“Ye ken. I love the way yer belly jiggles when ye laugh, Sassenach.”

“My belly does NOT jiggle.” I said as I jabbed my elbow into his side.

“Ooph! Sassenach, ‘twas only a joke ye ken. Ye didna need tae wound a man.”

“Oh Jamie, did I hurt you?”

“Aye, ye have bony elbows, and ye got me right in the guts.”

“Good. That’ll teach you for calling my belly jiggly.”

“I hear ye, mo chridhe. I’ll ne’er call ye jiggly again.” He said with a smile in his voice. He kissed me lightly on the forehead. “So it must be yer turn.”

“Apples or oranges.” 

Jamie considered the options carefully with more thought than I would have expected.

“Oranges” he said emphatically.

“Why?” I asked curiously. He hugged me closer to him, his chin in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Because, mo nighean donn, an apple a day keeps the doctor away and I canna bear the thought of being parted from ye ever again.”

He turned me around to face him as his lips ghosted up my neck, his warm breath on my skin. His hands cradled my chin as he kissed his way over my face, forehead, the arch of my eyebrows, the apples of my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my chin and finally my lips. 

I slid my fingers through his curls and pulled him closer. His tongue grazed my bottom lip seeking entrance. Opening my mouth was like opening my soul, allowing him not just into my heart but into my very being. His softness, his sweetness, filled me. He pulled away slightly, momentarily capturing my bottom lip between his teeth. He moved back to look over my face as if to memorise every feature.

“Ye ken I love ye, mo muirninn.” He purred.

“I do. I do too, with all that I am. I love you.” I pulled in, my head snuggling close to fit into the hollow of his chest that seemed to have been made especially for me. We sat silently, just being.

Jamie’s lips kissed the top of my head.

“Ye ken another reason I prefer oranges, Sassenach. They’re easier to juggle.”

“What?” Was he serious? 

“Aye. I can juggle. Murtagh taught me.”


	62. 1,2,3,4,5...once I caught a fish alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire discover hidden talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of the fishing scene is taken directly from the first book.
> 
> The usual disclaimer applies.

As we lay in the glade talking and finishing our lunch, I looked upward to where the sun was now seeping through the pine needles in lemon threads.

“It’s such a beautiful day.” I observed to Jamie.

“Aye, it is a fine day, at that. Come along, Sassenach. I’ll take ye fishing’.”

We packed up the remnants of our picnic, folded up the blanket and started off. We went further up into the hills. This time Jamie turned to the north, over a jumble of stone and through a crevice, into the head of a tiny glen, rock-walled and leafy, filled with the gurgling of water from the burn that spilled from a dozen wee falls among the rocks and plunged roistering down the length of the canyon into a series of rills and pools below. 

We took off our boots, rolled up our jeans and dangled our feet in the water, moving from shade to sun and back to shade as we grew too warm. We talked of this and that and not much of anything, both aware of each other’s smallest movements, both content to wait until chance should bring us to that moment when a glance should linger and a touch should signal more.

Above the dark speckled pool, Jamie showed me how to tickle trout. Crouched to avoid the low hanging branches overhead, he duck-walked along an overhanging ledge, arms outstretched for balance. Halfway along, he turned carefully on the rock and stretched out his hand, urging me to follow.

We stretched full length on the cool rock, head to head, peering down into the water, willow branches brushing our backs.

“All it is,” he said “is to pick a good spot and then wait.” He dipped one hand below the surface, smoothly, with no splashing and let it lie on the sandy bottom, just outside the line of shadow made by the rocky overhang. The long fingers curled delicately toward the palm, distorted by the water so that they seemed to wave gently to and fro in unison, like the leaves of a water plant, though I could see from the still muscling of his forearm that he wasn’t moving his hand at all. The column of his arm bent abruptly at the surface, seeming disjointed as it was in the vision of him in Paris I’d had only a few days ago.

“There he is.” Jamie’s voice was low, hardly more than a breath. He had told me that trout had sensitive ears.

From my angle of view, the trout was little more than a stirring of the speckled sand. Deep in the rock shadow there was no telltale gleam of scatles. Speckles moved on speckles, shifted by the fanning of transparent fins, invisible but for their motion. Minnows had gathered to pluck curiously at the hairs on Jamie’s wrist and at the arrival of the bigger fish they fled towards the middle of the pool. 

One finger bent slowly, so slowly that it was hard to see movement I could tell it moved only by its changing position, relative to the other fingers. Another finger bent slowly and after a long moment, another.

I scarcely dared to breathe and my heart beat against the cold rock with a rhythm faster than the breathing of the fish. Slowly his fingers bent back, lying open, one by one, and the slow hypnotic wave began again. One finger, another then a third, the movement in chorus with the fish’s fins.

As though beckoned by the slow motion of the ballet of Jamie’s fingers, the trout inched forward, mouth and gills delicately gasping, busy in the process of breathing, pink lining showing, not showing, showing, not showing as the opercula beat like a heart.

The chewing mouth groped and bit water. Most of its body was now clear of the rock, hanging weightless in the water, it’s tail still in the shadow.

Just another inch would bring it over the treacherous waving fingers. I found myself gripping the rock with both hands, pressing my cheek hard against its surface, making myself as inconspicuous as possible. 

There was a sudden explosion of motion. Everything happened so quickly I couldn’t see quite what did happen. A heavy splatter of water hit the rock an inch from my face, as Jamie rolled across the rock. The trout sailed through the air, landing with a heavy thwack on the opposite bank. 

Jamie surged off the ledge and into the shallow pond, splashing across to retrieve his prize before the stunned fish could recover and flap its way back to the sanctuary of the water. Grabbing its tail, Jamie slapped it expertly against a rock, killing it at once then waded back to show it to me. 

“A good size,” he said proudly. “A couple more would do us all for dinner tomorrow night.” He grinned up at me, his jeans wet to the thigh, his shirt splotched with water and dead leaves. “ I’ll never let ye go hungry, mo ghraidh.” His talk of catching more fish, showed me that he had accepted that we would be hosting Rachel and Denzell tomorrow night. 

He wrapped his catch in some burdock leaves and rinsed his fingers in the cool water of the burn, clambered up onto the rock and handed me the neatly wrapped package.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach, I’ll no spend the rest of the day fishing. I’ll set a fish trap later and with luck we’ll have enough for us all. We’ve likely scared off any others with all our splashing here anyway.”

“Jamie, that was amazing.” I exclaimed.

“Murtagh taught me when I was just a lad.” He smiled sheepishly at the memory. “Ye ken the first time I caught one, I ended up with my fingers in it’s mouth instead of it’s gills. I wasna quick enough to throw it and it sunk its teeth into my fingers and there was I, a laddie of just five, squealing like a lass, fish dangling from my hand and Murtagh, rolling around on the bank, holding his belly in fits of laughter.”

I giggled at the thought of not just the vision of a five year old Jamie squealing but the unlikely sight of not only a Murtagh laughing so hard, but rolling so undignified on the bank of a stream.

The wind had picked up and Jamie looked up at the clouds scuttling across the sky. 

“Rain’s on the way, lass. Best be getting back.” Helping me up from the rock, he took the wrapped fish and put it in the basket. We retrieved our boots and at a good pace walked back the way we’d come as the skies blackened. 

 

********************************

We were on the couch by the warm fire, Jamie’s head on my lap, his ridiculously long legs dangling over the end of the love seat. As I threaded my fingers through his curls, we chatted about our day.

“Ye ken, Sassenach, there’s an old love song from the isles. It tells about a man giving his lass a fish as a wedding gift. Do ye want to hear it?”

“Yes, of course. In English, though please.”

“I really need to teach ye the Gaidhlig one of these days.” He said, that half smile on his lips. “I’ve no voice for music ...“

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I laughed.

“Sassenach, ye wound me to the heart.” He replied melodramatically, hand to his chest. My hand covered his in mock comfort. He turned our hands and kissed my palm. “I’ll give ye just the words then.”

He locked his eyes with mine as he recited.

“Thou daughter of the King of bright lit mansions  
On the night that our wedding is on us,  
If living man I be in Duntulm,  
I will go bounding to thee with gifts,  
Thou wilt get a hundred badgers, dwellers in banks,  
A hundred brown otters, natives of streams,  
A hundred silver trout, rising from their pools...”

And on through a remarkable list of flora and fauna of the Isles. When he’d finished I applauded. 

“I like the line,’I will go bounding to thee with gifts.’ He sounds like a very enthusiastic lover.”

“I suppose I could add a line for myself, ‘I will leap into pools for thy sake.’”

We both laughed again then were quiet for a time, basking in the warmth of the fire. I was very conscious of the slow rise and fall of his chest and the slow beat of the pulse in his neck. He had a small triangular scar, just there at the base of his throat. 

“I ken ye may not want to talk about it just yet Sassenach, but can ye tell me what happened? When I was away with Murtagh?” He said softly breaking the silence. I knew this moment would come, and reluctant as I was about reliving the experience, I felt he deserved an explanation.

“It’s ok, Jamie. Just, let me tell it at my own pace.” 

He swung his legs back over the end of the couch and sat up. An arm draped itself over my shoulder and he pulled me to him in comfort, somehow knowing that the event would affect us both. I took a deep breath.

“After you left, I was looking at some of the things on the mantelpiece. I picked up the jug and it spoke to me.” He turned to look at me in astonishment. “Well it didn’t actually ‘speak’ to me as such but I had a vision. Jamie? Does the name Laura Findlayson mean anything to you?”

“Where did ye hear that name, Sassenach?” He said trying to keep his voice calm.

“I didn’t actually hear it, I was her.” I explained about feeling the pain of the arthritis in my own fingers and the ache of loss in my heart. “The jug slipped from my grasp and smashed on the floor so I went looking for a dustpan. That’s when I found the hidden cupboard. I was curious and unwrapped a package. When I picked up the sgian dhu... l saw them... the redcoats. They shot me. Well, not me. They shot him, Jamie. For that moment I was him. They shot Jock ... Jock McTavish.” My voice broke and tears of grief fell down my cheeks. “ But I felt it... I felt the balls go through my body. I felt the blood run out of me...That’s...that’s when I fell. When I hit my head. I don’t remember much else.” The pain of the memories caused me to shudder. He drew me closer and held me tightly.

Silence. I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears. What was he thinking? Would he believe me? Jamie sat stroking my hair, his brain obviously in overdrive. After a time he spoke, his voice calm and soothing.

“It’s alright, mo nighean donn, shush. Yer safe.” He chose his words carefully, not wanting to cause me any more distress. “So what yer saying is that, just holding things gave ye visions? Has it happened before, lass?”

“No. No never. Do you think... is it another ‘power’? Master Raymond said there’d be others.”

“I dinna ken fer sure, mo luaidh, but it sounds like it. So tell me again, when ye touched them, held them, ye said that ye felt like you were those people, that ye kent who they were ?”

“Yes, it was like... like being them but being able to see them at the same time. I really don’t know how else to explain it. As for knowing their names. It was like knowing my own.”

“Claire?” I knew by the way he called me by name, not by a nickname or endearment, that what he was going to ask was not necessarily something I would agree to. “Claire, would you be willing to show me? It’ll be alright. I’ll only give ye something I ken the history of. You’ve probably figured out that the names ye spoke were right. That they were the owners of the things.” He shifted and held my hands in his. Blue met hazel as he asked, “Do ye trust me, Claire?” 

I nodded. He rose from his seat and walked to the table. I’d expected to see him select something from the shelf above the fireplace, instead he reached into his sporran. He came back to sit beside me and carefully lay a small, wooden snake in my hand. 

“Sawny.” I breathed. I felt the chisel in my hand and the smell of the fresh cedar wood reached my nose as I carved slivers from the block of wood. My hands were those of a young boy, happy as he made the birthday gift for the little brother he doted on. I... he carved the nickname on the bottom.Then a flash to another day, excitement and love swelled in my heart, as I watched a small, red headed boy with cats eyes, unwrap the parcel and hug me. “Thank ye, Willie.” 

I returned to the present, a much larger version of that hug enfolded me. 

“You know he loved you very much.” I whispered as I brushed the tear from his cheek.


	63. Black Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honesty... time for a bit of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know a hell of a lot about caring or training horses so please forgive any mistakes.

We sat comforting one another after our emotional conversation. Small kisses and caresses, whispers of love and endearments passed between us. 

“‘Tis time now, mo nighean donn, for me to be honest with ye now.” Jamie said in a low voice. “We promised we could have secrets but no lies.”

“What do you mean, Jamie?”

“Sometimes, mo ghraidh, keeping a secret can eat away at ye, make it feel like yer lying. Honesty was what I promised, and honesty I’ll give ye.”

I sat up from where I was leaning against his chest. The afternoon had turned into dusk and our picnic had been hours ago. 

“How about I make some dinner? The horses need to be fed and watered too. We can talk then.” I suggested.

“Really, Sassenach? Ye want to make dinner?” He said, one eyebrow cocked.

“Ok, you’re right, maybe you can make dinner and I’ll feed the horses.” I replied, a smile on my face. “Honesty can wait until after dinner.”

Time with the horses gave me an opportunity to think about what was to come. Brimstone nickered as I measured out the feed. Donas just snorted. The small shed which served as a stable had only two sections and Jamie had decided to confine Donas in the pen whilst Brimstone being by far the calmer horse had the freedom of the rest of the shed. As I tipped the blend of pellets and chaff into the feeders, Brimstone’s head rested on my shoulder. The feel of her velvet nose was comforting. The warmth of the gentle creature was relaxing. As she slowly munched, I brought out the brush and curry comb. It would be a little while before dinner would be ready, so I took some time getting to know her better. I lost myself in the rhythmic action of the grooming. As I brushed, I told her all about our day. One side done, I moved around her rump to brush the other. 

Jamie had warned me to be careful around Donas as he was unpredictable. Jamie seemed to be the only one able to really control him although he tolerated others leading and feeding him. His name meant ill luck or calamity in Irish Gaelic. Jamie had rescued him as a colt and trained him. He and Jamie had an understanding but woe betide anyone else who hoped to ride him or handle him. Auld Alec managed but had almost lost a finger to his teeth. It was no wonder he was known as the black demon at Lallybroch.

I hummed to myself as I moved from wither to rump when I felt something touch my hair. A huff right in my ear confirmed my suspicions. His head over the railing, Donus’ nose was buried in my curls. I slowly moved away just a little, continuing to brush Brimstone. My training at the hand of the Irish stable master had instilled in me the importance of keeping calm and not making any sudden movements in the presence of unpredictable equines. The thought of losing an ear to his sharp teeth crossed my mind but then I felt the silky muzzle lean comfortably on my shoulder from behind me. Very slowly my hand reached up. Daringly I touched the satiny cheek that lay beside mine. I expected him to move away but he pushed himself closer as if wanting contact. His warm breath tickled my skin. I turned to him and looked him in the eye. Gone was the usual wary look, replaced with a chocolaty warmth. 

In those deep brown eyes, I saw a young foal wrenched from his mother and left in a small dark, damp excuse for a stall. Mouldering straw lay underfoot, his dull coat patchy and ribs showing from malnourishment but growing tall despite the lack of food. I could feel the gnawing emptiness of his belly and the weakness in his legs as they struggled to keep him upright. Then a man, a man with a cruel look in his eye, wrapped a rope around his neck, dragging him out of his prison. Led into a round yard, a long rope was attached to the rough halter. He stood there shaking, when a whip came down over his haunches. He reared up in terror, his head pulled down roughly. Again the whip came crashing down. I felt the lash as if it were flaying the skin off my own body. Unsure of what was expected of him, he pulled away, the whip thrashing again and again. Each day the same thing, one day a cold piece of metal thrust into his mouth pushing his tongue down uncomfortably, the next a girth wrapped tightly around his belly, too tight, pinching his skin. Every day the whip, flogging him trying to break his spirit. I could feel his strength of spirit, unyielding to the cruelty. Instead he rebelled, snapping with his teeth and kicking with his hooves, afterwards always returning to his gloomy jail. 

One day, instead of the pitiless jailor, another man stood in the doorway. A big man, a gentle man, one who whispered to him in a strange but soothing tongue. The nearly full grown colt, felt calm but suspicious. With encouragement and a firm but kind hand, he submitted to the halter. He was led out into the yard, in which stood a box with wheels. He shied and reared, terrified of exchanging one form of incarceration for another. Slowly, with the enticement of a bucket of succulent apples and the tuneless crooning of the patient man, he eventually allowed himself to be led into the confines. The man continued to whisper and stroke him, but the mistrust remained. 

A green field awaited him with fresh straw in a stall that felt like a palace after the dungeon he had endured all his life. He could never be totally comfortable with people, not knowing when the next whipping would happen but he gradually succumbed to the charms of this one man, the man with the silver tongue.

The vision faded and in a low voice I spoke to him. 

“You’ve had a hard life haven’t you, my beauty, but you can trust me. You know that. I feel you, I feel your spirit.” Turning around, I ran my hand down the outstretched neck. Suddenly his head jerked up as he sensed movement in the doorway.

“Ye’ve a gentle touch, Sassenach, with the horses as well as with people.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. I kent ye were a rare woman, Claire but no one has ever been able to pet him like that.” he said in amazement as Donas thrust his nose under my arm. “Dinner is ready.”

I scratched both horses around the ears and bid them goodnight. Jamie wrapped his arm around my waist and took me inside. I washed up and sat at the table. The bowls of delicious smelling pasta and crusty bread made my mouth water. A bottle of red wine stood breathing alongside crystal glasses.

“Oh my God, Jamie, this looks amazing.” I said appreciatively.

We tucked into the meal which tasted every bit as sumptuous as it looked. The wine accompanied it perfectly.

“I was worried about you when you were so long in the stable. I kent ye were a wise woman but when I saw you with Donas, knew then you were a witch. Only a witch could cast a spell over a demon.”

“Not a demon, Jamie. There was no bewitching involved. Well I’m not quite sure what to call it.” I paused, searching for the words to describe what had happened. “Donas spoke to me. Like the jug, like the knife, the snake and now Donas. I saw into his soul and we have an understanding of each other’s spirits. You know he was treated cruelly for a very long time.”

“Aye, he was starving when the RSPCA found him. I had worked with them before, rehabilitating abandoned horses and offered to take him. It was his only chance.” He sipped his wine as he leaned forward to hold my hand. “Ye say he spoke to ye. How?”

“I really have no idea how it works. Some things I touch tell me their story. It never happened before until Sunday.”

“Does it scare ye, mo ghiasgeach? Yer gift.”

“A little, well actually, more than a little but I’m beginning to accept it.”

“I’m glad, Sassenach, truly. Now it’s time for me to come clean. Ye ken that I’m a printer, actually I spend more time restoring old books, fixing spines and covers and such.”

“And???” I could see that there was more to what Jamie was telling me. The evidence in the secret cupboard and that throwaway comment from Geillis rankled in my mind. I was determined to be patient though as he had been with me.

“And I volunteer at the clinic. Equine therapy. Ye ken how being around horses can help with people who are ill.”

“And??”

“And I help Jenny run the farm. Takes a lot to keep up and she and Murtagh canna do it alone.”

“And what else is it you do? I don’t know much about farming but farm like that isn’t all that profitable especially when it comes to providing an income for all three of you.” It was time for Jamie to address the elephant in the room. I could see the evident avoidance tactics he was using. A little push might help.

“Well, Sassenach, I may indulge in... in a wee bit of smuggling.”

There it was. The truth set free. I felt like I was back pretending like I was in the 18th century. Smuggling! I knew that smuggling was still prevalent in the 21st but it sounded like something out of a Boys Own Annual.

“Smuggling what, exactly.” As if I didn’t already have an idea.

“Historical artifacts, exactly.”

“How and why?”

“Well, ye ken I’m a traveler, Sassenach. How else!”


	64. A smugglers tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie’s explanation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience waiting for the continuation of this story.
> 
> To be perfectly honest with you life got in the way with some health issues which I hope have now resolved themselves and renovating my little 120 year old cottage.
> 
> Hopefully I’ll again find the time and the oomph to write more regularly but it probably won’t be as prolific as it has been in the past.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely readers who have checked in with me during my absence. I really appreciate it.

Smuggling what, exactly.” I asked if I didn’t already have an idea.

“Historical artifacts, exactly.”

“How and why?”

“Well, ye ken I’m a traveler, Sassenach. How else!”

How else indeed! The cache of wrapped parcels in the secret cupboard said it all. I didn’t quite know how I felt about being married to a smuggler, especially one of historical items. It went against everything that Uncle Lamb had taught me about robbing a culture of it’s history for personal gain. The black market in antiques and antiquities was huge, Middle Eastern objects being the most currently prized treasures but smuggled antiques from across the globe were still sought keenly. Provenance was either faked or just ignored and disreputable auction houses held secret auctions for preferred customers who didn’t care about where the treasures came from. This was exactly what Frank’s new job was all about. The purpose of the Heritage Protection Initiative, to which Frank had been seconded, was to minimise, if not stamp out the illegal trade of historical artefacts and here was I surrounded by them.

“So how does that work?” I asked, having a fair idea but wanted to hear it from his own lips.

Jamie took my hand and lead me to the couch. We sat comfortably beside each other my head nestled in his shoulder as he relaxed into storyteller mode.

“Ye remember me telling ye about my Da taking me to the standing stones at Craig Na Dunn? How we travelled through the stones to meet my ancestors?”

I nodded.

“It was the time after Culloden, the time of the clearances. Food was scarce and what was to be had was expensive. Families of men that had been slain on the battlefield were the worst off, widows and children starved. What little they had, would often be seized by roaming packs of redcoats as they were an easy target with no men to protect them. Lallybroch was home to William Fraser, his wife, Moira and their four bairns. They had also taken in three orphans whose father had been killed in the battle and their mother to the influenza. Rents from the tenants were scarce when the crops failed. All in all, they were bleak times. 

The Laird, William, and my father hatched a plan. We would collect every day objects and take them back through the stones and sell them, their value being much higher in our time. We would buy as many coins from the time as we could find and bring them back along with as much food as we could carry, salt, oats, tea and flour as well as seeds for planting that could be shared amongst the family and tenants.

We made a few trips, my Da and I, then I was nineteen, I went on my own and, well, ye ken how that turned out.” He said with a wry smile.

“So, how do you explain the stash in the cupboard?”

His arm tightened around me.

“Sassenach, I ken ye disapprove of my methods, but I dinna do it for myself.”

“So you’re a modern day, Robin Hood, then.”

“I suppose ye could look at it like that, except I dinna steal from anyone. What we brought back we sold on consignment. They were paid in either goods or in coin.”

“So how does it work? Traveling?”

“Some say ye need a blood sacrifice but it was never like that for us.”

“Wait, are you saying that that there are others?” I then remembered. “Master Raymond, he’s a traveler too, isn’t he. Don’t tell me he...”

“No, Sassenach, he doesn’t and yes, he’s a traveler. Your uncle too.”

“What???” I spun around to look him in the eye. “Uncle Lamb? No, that’s not possible.” As soon as the comment passed my lips I knew it was possible.

“Aye, mo nighean donn, he has Fraser blood, just as ye have.”

“But when? I was with him all the time while I was growing up.”

“All the time, Sassenach?” His eyebrow raised, prompting me to think back.

Of course. My summer holidays at the Manse! I would stay with the Reverend and Roger over the five weeks that Roger had holidays and Uncle Lamb would go off to do his ‘research’ before we headed off to another dig. That would explain how Uncle Lamb was so successful at finding new sites. He’d been there before, in the past. 

“So, Sassenach, ye ken I’m no the only one.”

“I’m sorry, I'm still trying to get my head around all of this.” Jamie pulled me back to him in understanding. “So if you don’t use a blood sacrifice then how do you go through? I gather the way you spoke, you need something.”

“All ye need is a wee gemstone and of course not just anyone can do it. I told ye that Jenny canna go through. I dinna ken quite how but there it is.”

“What’s it like, going through the stones?” I asked. I imagined that it wouldn’t be too easy, no revolving door.

“Well mo chridhe, ‘tis no picnic. The easiest time to go is at one of the fire feasts or quarter days, Imbolc, that’s Candlemas or St Brighid’s Day, Beltane, that’s May Day, May 1st, Lughnasadh, the harvest feast around August 1st and Samhain.”

“Halloween?”

“Aye. I dinna ken the physics of it, if there is even a scientific answer. Sassenach, d’ye remember the song Gwyllyn sang at the Ceilidh, the one about the woman of Balmain? It’s true and the way it’s described in the song is pretty much what happens. The wind does rise and there’s a hell of a noise. The song says thunder but tae me it’s more like the buzzing of a thousand angry bees.”

“I remember. It is more like bees than thunder.” 

“What do ye mean? Ye remember?” Jamie looked at me wide eyed. “How, Sassenach? How can ye remember when ye’ve no been there.”

“You’re right. I haven’t been there but I dreamed about it. The night of the Ceilidh, when I fell asleep on the hill. It was so real. I was dressed like I was during the gathering and I was running towards the stones. Someone was chasing me and I knew had to get to the stones, I had to go through. I heard a voice calling me, not whoever was chasing me but a voice coming through the stones themselves.” I looked Jamie in the eyes, as I finally recognised the voice in my dream. “It was you, your voice speaking Gaelic. Urging me on. I knew if I could reach the stones I’d be safe. I’d be with you.”

Jamie’s arms tightened around me as if he never wanted to let me go. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he digested my words.

“Sassenach, d’ye think the dream was more than a dream. A glimpse into the future perhaps, a prophecy.”

My head spun at the thought. Was Jamie right? Was it a prediction of events to come? If so, did that mean that I too, was capable of traveling through time. It was a Fraser trait and like it or not, I not only now had the Fraser name but carried Fraser genes. It was in my DNA. 

“We need to go to the stones.” We both said in unison. We laughed at the fact that we had both come out with exactly the same words at the same time. 

“Aye, we do but Claire, I dinna want us to go through, no’ just yet. You need to ken more about how it is. Going through, that is. It’s no’ pleasant.”

“Ok. So we just go there, to...what did you call it?”

“Craig Na Dun.”

“So we go to Craig Na Dun like you did with your father and see if I can hear them, hear the stones. Then we’ll know, won’t we.”

“Aye lass, then we’ll ken it.” Jamie said seriously. “I dinna ken if I want ye to be able to travel or no’. Traveling can be exciting but dangerous. I dinna want to put ye in danger. Yer too precious to me.”

“Jamie, trust me, that’s the last thing I want to do right now. I just want to know. I need to know.”

“Right then, Sassenach, we’ll go.”

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning, early. ‘Tis no’ far from here so it wilna take long to get there. It’s quite magical seeing the sunrise there but Claire, we go, see if ye can hear them, the stones, then we come right back. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Jamie’s expression relaxed as he heard my affirmation. “Perhaps we should head off to bed seeing as we have an early morning.”

“To bed or to sleep, Sassenach?”

I rose from the couch and offered him my hand.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we.”


	65. A traveler or no

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire go to Craig Na Dun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your patience and wonderful messages. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Once again I have drawn some passages straight from the books. 
> 
> Again I don’t claim any rights to them.

“Sassenach.” 

His lips grazed my ear as he whispered my name. I stretched, working out the kinks, a reminder of our nocturnal activities as his hand gently stroked my stomach. I turned to him, my eyes slowly opening to find his cerulean ones gazing at me with love and his crooked smile lit a fire in my heart. “Good morning, mo chridhe.”

Jamie was already dressed and sat on the side of the bed.

I returned his smile with my own. 

“Good morning, lover.” I answered. As early as it was in our unorthodox marriage and the rocky path it had already taken, I thought I would never get sick of the way he watched me wake up and the sound of his voice as he whispered soft Gaelic endearments to me. I reached out to him.

“Sassenach, lass, as much as I’d like to ravish ye again right now, it’ll be dawn soon and if we don’t get a wriggle on, we’ll miss the sunrise.”

As much as I wanted to snuggle back under the covers with Jamie, I knew this was an important step in our relationship. I had to know whether my Fraser genes would show themselves at the stones. 

Jamie leaned in to kiss me. I reached up and pulled him to me, my fingers entwined in his rufous curls. We kissed deep and long. His kisses did things to me I never thought possible. His teeth nipped my bottom lip playfully before pulling away.

“I’ll pop the kettle on and fill the thermos. Dress warmly, mo nighean donn. It’s a wee bit nippy out.”

Conceding defeat at my attempt to entice him back to bed, I got up and gasped as my feet touched the cold stone floor. I would never understand how much our internal thermometers differed. I got dressed in double quick time and took the cup of tea proffered by Jamie gratefully. He always seemed to know exactly what I needed. The cup of oolong was ambrosial and as much as I would have loved to savour it slowly I knew there wasn’t time to linger.

“It’s time, Sassenach.” he said as he helped me into my jacket. Holding out his hand to me, he asked “Are ye ready, mo ghraidh?”

A small shiver that had nothing to do with the cold morning, ran through me. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I answered.

We emerged into the predawn and got into the Range Rover. It roared into life and Jamie drove back down the track towards the main road but before we reached it, he turned off. The trail we drove down could not have even been called a track, it was so well hidden. The average person would have missed it especially in the dim light but Jamie was much more than average. It was obvious that he had driven along this route many times before. As we bumped across the rough terrain, Jamie again reached for my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. I looked across at him in thanks, the nervous butterflies leaving my stomach. I knew in that moment that I was safe in his presence, that he would never let anything happen to me. The thought of the stones frightened but intrigued me. Would I hear them? Was I a traveler?

Before I could think about it anymore, Jamie slowed the car down as we approached the hill.

“We’re here, lass. Are ye ok?” I nodded and Jamie jumped out of the car and came around to open my door. His big hand enveloped mine. “‘Tis just a short climb up the hill.”

As he lead me up the slope, I noted the lightening of the sky as the sun prepared to begin its path across the sky for another day. 

As we crested the rise, the circle of standing stones became evident, silhouetted against the grey blue of the sky and the clouds began to take on a pinkish hue.

“Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning.” I said under my breath.

“Aye lass, it feels like rain alright but no until later, I’m reckoning.” Jamie said, looking towards the heavens.

I was fascinated by the formation before us.

“Where did they come from? Do you know?” I asked Jamie.

“Well lass, according to legend they were carried here from Africa by a race of Celtic giants.”

“I wasn’t aware that the Celts made a lot of trips to Africa.”

“Only the giant ones.” he answered, his trademark lopsided grin lighting his face.

We walked slowly towards the circle, my hand grasped tightly in his. The stones before us emitted a low, almost subsonic, hum. I felt the vibration seep gradually into my bones, then deeper into my very core with each step we took. I slowed my pace, resisting the pull of the henge. The sound waves became a hum.

“You feel it then, Sassenach.” 

I nodded, almost unbelieving but unable to deny the sensations that coursed through my body and the hum that gradually grew louder.

As we reached the edge of the circle, the wind blew up, creating eddys of leaves at our feet. The circle consisted of thirteen stones of various heights and sizes and in the centre the tallest one was cleft with a vertical split dividing the two massive pieces. Oddly, the pieces had been drawn apart by some means. Though you could see that the facing surfaces matched, they were separated by a gap of two or three feet.

Again, I felt drawn to it. I slowly moved forward, my feet moving as if of their own volition. My hand raised, feeling the pull as if the rock was a magnet and my hand made of iron. 

Everything around me dissolved, all that existed in my mind at that moment was the central stone and my inexplicable need to reach it. My hand left Jamie’s as the noise of the circle engulfed me. The hum became a roar, and through the roar there were voices, the shriek of a woman, the cry of a baby and the yelling and shouting of men accompanied by a clashing of metal on metal and the sound of gunfire. The sounds pierced my brain making it feel like my skull was in danger of exploding. One more step would be all it took. Just one step. My fingertips were a hairs breadth from the granite surface.

I had almost reached my goal when I felt myself being jerked back. Back into strong arms that clasped me tightly to a chest that felt like home. I could feel his heart pounding against its wall as I came back into myself. My chest was heaving as I gasped for breath. It was like being shaken awake from a nightmare.

“Christ, Claire. Did ye no hear me? I told ye to stop but ye just kept going. God only kens what would’ve have happened if ye’d touched it.”

Still trying to catch my breath, I answered. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t hear anything except the buzzing and voices. They came right out of the stones. “ My body shook in terror as l had a realisation of the consequences may have been had I actually reached out just a little more .

“Hush, mo muirninn, hush. Yer safe now. Just promise me you’ll no go near them without me.”

I nodded silently.

We made our way back down the path to the car, Jamie’s arm tightly wrapped around my waist, the golden light of the sunrise shining on his hair creating a halo. Jamie, my saviour. He helped me up into the seat and drove back to the cottage. Once inside Jamie nestled me onto the couch and wrapped the warm plaid that lay over the back of it around me. I didn’t realise until that moment that I was shaking almost uncontrollably. A glass of whiskey was placed into my hand as I was urged to drink. 

He sat beside me, his hand resting on his knee, holding his own glass of the amber liquid. 

“Well, Sassenach. I think we can safely say that ye are a true Fraser. There’s no doubt that the stones call to ye.”

“No, no doubt.” I answered wryly. “Jamie, why couldn’t I stop? Why couldn’t I hear you calling me?”

“I dinna ken, mo chridhe. Tell me, how it was for ye.”

I explained, as well as I could, the feeling of magnetism, the pull, as if the stones were drawing me towards them. The loudness of the buzzing and the voices.

“I just remember that in that moment, I had no awareness of anything else except wanting to, no, needing to touch my fingers against the rock face. That it was my destiny. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

He set down his glass and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping us both in the plaid, his body heat creating a warm cocoon. His hand smoothing over my hair. 

“Ye needn’t ever go back, Claire. I fact I dinna want ye to ever go back. It’s too dangerous. I’d never have taken ye if I kent it’d affect ye so. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Truly. There’s no way you could have known.”

There it was. Another ability, another power, if that was what you could call it to add to my ever growing list of gifts. What else was I to discover about myself? I wondered.


	66. It’s raining, it’s pouring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from Murtagh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so nice to be back and have the encouragement that comes from all of my readers.
> 
> As I’m writing this we are being blessed by the first good rain in about 6 months. Not enough to break the drought that has been ravaging our part of the country but enough to top up water tanks, rivers and dams a little and hopefully it’s not too late to get the grass germinating for the stock.
> 
> For those that way inclined, please pray for rain in the drought stricken areas of Australia. Thanks xx

The magenta clouds of the dawn sky had told the truth. Not only did it just rain, but storm clouds gathered, darkening the day but it teemed down, accompanied by lightning and thunder.

Jamie went out to feed and check the horses, making sure they were secured. Donas hated thunderstorms and would bolt if given half a chance. 

“He’s a brave lad usually. Thunder is his nemesis though but then ye ken that don’t ye, lass.” he said recalling my horse whisperer moment. “Brimstone on the other hand would have been a great warhorse in the day. Solid as a rock. You could loose a cannon right by her and she wouldna flinch.”

Jamie had come back in looking like someone had upended an entire bathtub over him. I made him strip off just inside the doorway while I fetched towels. He made to pick up his sodden clothing but I ushered him towards the fireplace not wanting him to catch a chill. Handing him a towel, I took the other and made to dry his back. As often as I saw his scars, I still couldn’t fathom how any man could inflict such cruelty on another. 

Slowly I ran the towel over his back, my lips tracing the same path as the soft cloth. I felt him shiver. I threw the towel over the back of the kitchen chair and got the plaid from the couch. Offering it to him, he laughed.

“Sassenach, I’m no’ cold.”

“But you were shivering.”

“Aye I was, shivering in anticipation.” His voice lowered to a growl as he turned toward me. “Christ, Claire, do ye ken what it is ye do to me when yer velvet lips touch my skin.”

My eyes flickered downward to see exactly what it was that my lips did to him. We’d been married a total of five days. My naivety returned at the most embarrassing moments. I felt the blushing start at my chest and slowly rise up my neck to my cheeks.

“Jamie, I’m sorry, I just wanted to help dry you off and then... your scars... I just wanted to..”

Jamie laughed again, a joyous sound that warmed me to my soul. His eyes crinkled at the edges as they caught mine. I found myself pulled towards his sculpted chest and felt it move against me as he laughed.

“Och, mo leannain, yer kindness itself. Ye ken it doesna pain me anymore.”

“I know but...”

“But yer a healer and a fine one. I ken ye canna help yerself.”

He lifted my chin with his forefinger and lowered his lips to mine to claim a kiss. Just as our lips touched, an almighty banging came from the door.

“Iffrin! Who the hell would be thumping at the door in this weather?”

Jamie reached for the plaid I still held and wrapped it, kilt like, around his waist. He opened the door and stepped aside to allow Murtagh entrance.

“Christ, man. What are ye doing out in this weather?”

“Well, hello to ye too.” He nodded a greeting to me from the doorway. “Claire, good to see ye looking much better than last time I saw ye.” He held out a paper wrapped parcel which he shoved into Jamie’s hands.

“Thank you, Murtagh. Please come in. Let me take your coat and warm yourself by the fire.” 

Murtagh shrugged off his long, leather coat. It was soaked and weighed a ton. I reached for it but Jamie intercepted me and hung the dripping coat on the hook by the door.

Looking Jamie up and down, Murtagh muttered “For Christ’s sake, man, go and put on some breeks.”

A blush engulfed Jamie’s face as realised his unclothed state. He moved towards the chest of drawers, wrenched out some clothes and went to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

A deep chuckle snuck out from under the big bushy beard as Murtagh warmed his hands by the fire.

“My godson never did like being caught nekkit. Even as a wee lad. I caught him once in the tub and he upset a whole shelf of toiletries and such trying to find something to cover himself with.”

“Really?” I answered, a smirk touching my lips, “I found it to be the complete opposite.”

At that, a loud belly laugh exploded from his godfather. “Och, lass, I see ye have a cheeky side.”

It was my turn to blush. Innuendo was not my usual style but I had become more comfortable in the grizzly man’s presence and we laughed together.

Jamie emerged from the bathroom, now dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, one eyebrow raised at the sound of our shared laughter.

“What’s the joke then?” He asked, suspecting that he might be the butt of it.

“Nothing really,” I replied “ Murtagh was just telling me about you as a boy.”

“Jesus, mo seanair, what, in God’s name, have ye been telling her.” Jamie said knowing that the man had a whole cache of embarrassing stories about him that he could choose from.

“Naught that isna true.” A rare smile lit his face. “Come here, lad. We’ll no make any more fun of ye...well no today anyhow.”

I moved to the table to inspect the damp package Murtagh had thrust into Jamie’s hands. 

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Fish. Fer yer supper tonight. Jamie mentioned ye were having company.”

I remembered that Jamie had said he was going to set a fish trap after his trout tickling lesson yesterday.

“I checked yer trap this morning.” Murtagh said. “Glad I did. It most likely would have washed downstream if I hadna. The burn is fairly up with this downpour.”

“Thank ye. I was going to do it myself but Claire and I went to the stones this morning.” Jamie said knowing that Murtagh would understand the significance of the comment.

“...and?” Murtagh asked realising that the answer to come could have a huge impact on our future.

“Aye. She can.”


End file.
